“Thank you, thank you,” Bike said, his deep emotions showing in the painful twitching of his pale face. He clasped Dick’s firm hand in his own dry, feverish one, and gave it a grateful pressure. “Until to-morrow, then?” “Until to-morrow,” echoed the unhappy man, looking into Dick’s face with an appealing look of agony that Richard never forgot. CHAPTER XV. “TO RICHARD TREADWELL, PERSONAL.” It was ten o’clock when Richard Treadwell in gown and slippers, sat down in a high-backed chair to partake of a light breakfast. The dainty table was spread with its burden of light rolls and yellow butter, with a bit of ice on it, and crisp, red berries. The odor of the coffee was very appetizing, but Richard ate and read the morning paper at the same time. The awnings lowered over the windows shut out the glare of the morning sun. A light breeze moved the curtains lazily, and a green palm on the window-sill waved its long arms energetically, as if to hurry the indolent young man who was missing the beauty of Summer’s early morning. Richard Treadwell’s rooms were as unlike the elegant apartments of Tolman Bike, as a violet is unlike a rose. One, like a laughing, romping child, denoted health and cheerfulness; the other, unhealthy in tone and coloring, spoke of dreams and selfish gratification. Here were copies of Rosa Bonheur’s master-pieces of animal life, pictures of racing horses, photographs of serious-faced dogs in comical positions, a stuffed fish’s head, with wide open mouth, mounted on a plaque; boxing gloves, clubs and dumb-bells, lying where they had fallen after this young man had taken a turn at each of them. There was an unsorted jumble of walking-sticks, whips, fishing tackle and firearms. The furniture was light, the curtains were thin and airy, the carpet was bright and soft. Richard ate and read unmindful of the wrestling match between a bow-legged pug and a saucy black-and-tan, whose little sharp ears stood stiffly erect, expressive of cool amusement at the fat pug’s futile attempts to throw him. As Richard pushed his chair back and lighted a cigarette, a man-servant entered quietly and put a large envelope and a smaller one on the table before him. Richard took the larger envelope and read the superscription. .................................. . TO . . RICHARD TREADWELL, ESQ^{RE.} . . FROM _PERSONAL._ . . TOLMAN BIKE. . .................................. He hastily tore it open with his thumb. The letter began without any preliminaries: In writing this I place my life at your disposal. I neither expect mercy nor ask it. I have been so wretched for days that life is a burden I little care to bear. Do what you please with this, but if you possess an unheard-of generosity I would ask you, after clearing yourself, to spare me as much as possible.