On his arrival Levy gave Buckner a welcome which raised his self-esteem almost to the bursting-point. A box of costly cigars and a decanter of fine brandy close at his elbow appeared to him as the height of hospitality, as one gentleman would extend it to another. And when he found that his new host manifested even as deep an interest in his previous life as his earlier friend who had provided the money, he was prepared to reciprocate in every way that lay in his power. With the preliminary acquaintance thus happily and firmly established, Levy opened up for business. "In this suit for divorce which your wife brought," he asked, "the summons was never served on you, was it?" "Why, yes," Buckner replied, slowly refilling his glass from the decanter; "it was served on me by a man named Murray, at Colorado Springs." "Oh, dear; oh, dear!" groaned Levy, with a mixture of pathos and incredulity, "what an unfortunate memory you have! There was no one else in Colorado Springs who knew about it, I presume?" "Not there," Buckner answered; "I sent the paper to a lawyer in Denver named Jennings." "But there was no correspondence between you?" "Yes; there were two or three letters." "Where is Jennings now?" "Dead, for all I know," he responded, with a cheerfulness which came from his comfortable environment rather than from any particular pleasure from the possible demise of the gentleman in question. "He moved away from Denver later, and I haven't heard of him since." Levy was absorbed in his own thoughts for several moments, which time was profitably employed by Buckner again to replenish his glass, and to help himself to a fresh cigar. "Look here, Buckner." Levy spoke so suddenly that his companion guiltily replaced the unlighted cigar in the box. "How difficult would it be for you to forget that you ever had a summons served on you, provided there was enough in it to make it worth while?" Buckner boldly placed the cigar between his lips and straightened up. "What's the game?" he asked. "Tell me what's up, and perhaps we can make a trade." "I have a client who might like to see that divorce decree set aside," Levy began. "Another friend of mine, eh?" Buckner laughed at his own joke. "Never knew before I was so popular." The brandy was getting in its work. "Every one is interested in my marriage troubles, and here's one wants to give me back my wife!" "Never mind that," Levy stopped him. "This client of mine isn't interested in you or in your wife, but he evidently has a private spite against Gorham, who married her. He may not care to push it, but, if he does, do you see what the game is?" "Sure I do, sure I do," Buckner answered, thickly. "Damned good game--I'll play it with you. It would hit her hard, too, wouldn't it?" "What do you care if it does?" "I don't care--glad of it--that's the special reason why I'm willing to play the game."