"I don't know. I'll send you her address. I can get it. About Galloway--If that break comes, I propose that we get his business--you and I. I want you for a partner. I always did. I think I know how to get work out of you. I understand you better, than anyone else. That's why I'm here." "It's useless," said Norman. "I'm willing to take the risk. Now, here's what I propose. I'll stake you to the extent of a thousand dollars a month for the next six months, you to keep on as you are and not to tie yourself up to any other lawyer, or to any client likely to hamper us if we get the Galloway business." "I've been borrowing right and left----" "I know about that," interrupted Tetlow. "I'm not interested. If you'll agree to my proposal, I'll take my chances." "You are throwing away six thousand dollars." "I owe you a position where I make five times that much." Norman shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. Can I have five hundred at once?" "I'll send you a check to-day. I'll send two checks a month--the first and the fifteenth." "I am drinking a great deal." "You always did." "Not until recently. I never knew what drinking meant until these last few months." "Well, do as you like with the money. Drink it all, if you please. I'm making no conditions beyond the two I stated." "You will send me that address?" "In the letter with the check." "Will she see me, do you think?" "I haven't an idea," replied Tetlow. "What's the mystery?" asked Norman. "Why do you speak of her so indifferently?" "It's the way I feel." Then, in answer to the unspoken suspicion once more appearing in Norman's eyes, he added: "She's a very nice, sweet girl, Norman--so far as I know or believe. Beyond that--Go to see her." It had been many a week since Norman had heard a friendly voice. The very sound of the human voice had become hateful to him, because he was constantly detecting the note of nervousness, the scarcely concealed fear of being entangled in his misfortunes. As Tetlow rose to go, Norman tried to detain him. The sound of an unconstrained voice, the sight of a believing face that did not express one or more of the shadings of contempt between pity and aversion--the sight and sound of this friend Tetlow was acting upon him like one of those secret, unexpected, powerful tonics which nature at times suddenly injects into a dying man to confound the doctors and cheat death. "Tetlow," said he, "I'm down--probably down for good. But if I ever get up again, I'll not make one mistake--the one that cost me this fall. Do you know what that mistake was?" "I suppose you mean Miss Hallowell?" "No," said Norman, to his surprise. "I mean my lack of money, of capital, of a large and secure income. I used to imagine that brains were the best, the only sure asset. I was guilty of the stupidity of overvaluing my own possessions." "Brains are a mighty good asset, Fred."