"Hullo, Milt!" he boomed, rolling his heavy form into a chair, his round, red face beaming. "How's the wild Injin this morning? Say, you're a wonder when you get started! You needn't deny it; wasn't I there?" He shook his head, chuckling fatly. "Look here," he went on, "I'm busy this morning--got to get down to North Beach to see Harry Meigs--and I guess you are." He tossed over a package of papers that he produced from an inside pocket. "Look those over at your leisure. I think we better sue the sons of guns. Let me know what you think." He fished about in a tight-drawn waistcoat pocket with a chubby thumb and forefinger, pulled out a strip of paper, and flipped it to Keith as casually as though it were a cigarette paper. "There's a little something as a retainer," said he. "Well, be good!" After he had lumbered out, Keith examined the check. It was for one thousand dollars. If anything were needed to restore his entire confidence in himself, this retainer would have sufficed. The little spree was regrettable, of course, but it had brought him a client--and a good one! Two days later Keith, who now had reason to spend more time in his office, received another and less welcome visitor: this was Morrell. The young Englishman, his clean-cut face composed to wooden immobility, his too-close-set eyes squinting watchfully, came in as though on a social call. "Just dropped around to look at your diggin's," he told the surprised Keith. "Not badly fixed here; good light and all.". He accepted a cigar, and sat for some moments, his hat and stick carefully disposed on his knees. "Look here, Keith," he broke into a desultory chat after a few minutes. "Deucedly awkward, and all that, of course; but I've been wondering whether you would, be willing to tide me over--remittances late, and all that sort of thing. Stony for the moment. Everything lovely when the mails arrive. Neighbours, see a lot of each other, and that sort, you know." Keith was totally unprepared for this, and floundered. Morrell, watching him calmly, went on: "Of course I wouldn't think of coming to you, old chap--plenty of people glad to bank for me temporarily--but I wanted you to know just how we stand--Mrs. Morrell and I--that we feel friendly to you, and all that sort of thing, you know! You can rely on us--no uneasiness, you know." "Why, that's very kind of you," returned Keith, puzzled. "Not a bit! The way I looked at it was that a chap wouldn't borrow from a man he wasn't friendly with, it isn't done." He laughed his high, cackling laugh, "So I said to Mimi, 'the dear man must be worryin' his head off.' It was lucky for you, old top, that a woman of the world with some sense saw you the other night instead of some feather-headed gossipin' fool. But Mimi's not that." Keith was slowly beginning to suspect, but as yet he considered his suspicion unjust. "How much do you need?" he asked, "Five hundred dollars," replied Morrell coolly.