"That was my last gamble and I lost. That's all I have to tell." Kenneth listened with keen interest. When the other stopped speaking he asked: "And now--what will you do?" Handsome shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. Kenneth went on: "You can't keep up the old life--that is impossible. You owe something to the blood that's running in your veins. There is only one thing for you to do. You must break off with the past for good, and come home with me. Are you known in New York?" Handsome shook his head. "No, I never returned there since I was a child." "Your operations in America were confined to San Francisco, Chicago and St. Louis----" "Yes." Kenneth breathed more freely. "That makes matters easier. No one in New York, therefore, has anything against you. There it will be possible to live down your past. You will cease being an outcast, a wanderer on the face of the earth. You will take the place in society for which Nature intended you." Handsome smiled cynically. Grimly he replied: "I guess Nature never expected much of me." "You never can tell," said Kenneth quickly. "Your environments no doubt were responsible for your downfall. You have been a victim of circumstances." Handsome was silent. This free roving life had come second nature to him. He looked with suspicion on any other. After a pause, he asked: "What can I do in New York?" "I will dress and house you like a gentleman. For a time you can make your home with us. If we find we can't agree, well--we'll part. I will find you employment----" Handsome laughed. Mockingly he said: "Then I am to be dependent on you----" "No--not on me----. On your own efforts. There is no reason why, if given a chance, you will not make a success in the world. You are still young and energetic. I will give you a start in any line you wish to enter. I will make you a present of $10,000. It should be enough capital to start in any business." Handsome shrugged his shoulders. "Charity?" he exclaimed. "No--not charity--brotherly affection." His brother laughed mockingly. Bitterly he exclaimed: "Maybe it's conscience money." "What do you mean?" "You inherited from our father, didn't you?" "Yes--but I've increased it a hundred-fold by my own efforts." "How much did he leave you?" "Twenty thousand dollars." "Why didn't he leave me some?" "He believed you dead. The sum I offer you is the sum you would have inherited from our father had he known you were living. Do you accept?"