"And have Geltman putting you in jail?" "Oh, _he_ won't trouble me." "How do you know?" "I've made some inquiries. He's dropped the thing." "Are you sure?" "Oh, yes. He's not so thick-skinned as he looks. That story wouldn't look well in print, you know." With an outburst of friendship, Dicky threw his arms around Crabb's shoulders and gave him a bear hug. "I'll never forget it, Mort, never! You're the salt of the earth----" "There, there, Dicky. Salt should be taken in pinches, not by the spoonful, and you've mussed my cravat! Be off with you and don't come back here until matrimony has sobered you into a proper sense of your new responsibilities to your Creator." From the window of his apartment Crabb watched Dicky's taxi spin up the avenue in the direction of the modest boarding-house which sheltered the waiting bride, then turned with a heavy sigh and rang for McFee. Love like that never comes to the very rich. He, Mortimer Crabb, was not a sentient being, but only a chattel, an animated bank account upon which designing matrons cast envious eyes and for which ambitious daughters laid their pretty snares. No, love like that was not for him--or ever would be, it seemed. His toilet made, Crabb strolled out for the air, wondering as he often did how the people on the street could smile their way through life, while he---- A hansom passed, turned just beyond and drew up at the curb beside him, and a voice addressed him. "Crabb! Mortimer Crabb! By all that's lucky!" "Ross Burnett!" said Crabb, gladly. "I thought that you were dead. Have you dropped from heaven, man?" "No," laughed Ross, "not so far, only from China." Burnett dismissed the hansom at once and together they went to the Bachelors' Club near by, where, over a friendly glass, they gathered up the loose ends of their friendship. Crabb listened with new interest as his old friend gave him an account of what had happened in the five years which had intervened since they had last met, recalling piece by piece the unfortunate events which had led to his departure from New York, and Burnett, glad of receptive ears, rehearsed it for him. The boy had squandered his patrimony in Wall Street. Then by the grace of one of the senators from New York he obtained from the President an appointment as consular clerk, an office, which if it paid but little at home carried with it some dignity, a little authority, and certain appreciable perquisites in foreign ports. He had chosen wisely. At Cairo, where he had been sent to fill a temporary vacancy caused by the death of the consul general and subsequent illness of his deputy, he found himself suddenly in charge of the consular office in the fullest press of business, with diplomatic functions requiring both ingenuity and discretion.