Exaggerated reports of Janet Fordyce’s reputed wealth, which she was to inherit on coming of age, reached Barnard and aroused his cupidity. In the past his affection for Marjorie had barred that all too frequently traveled road to “Easy Street,” a marriage for money; but he met Janet at a time when his finances were low, and the idea was not so distasteful as formerly; particularly when the girl, beside her wealth, had charm, youth, and a lovable disposition. But Barnard, like many another man, was tempted to play with fire. The more inevitable appeared his break with Marjorie, the more passionately he loved her, and only the lure of wealth kept him steadfast in his purpose. Barnard was trying to pierce the future as he sat in his sitting-room, the cold, gray dawn creeping through the window blinds, and he smoked innumerable cigarettes with nervous rapidity. His roving eyes restlessly examining each familiar piece of furniture, finally lighted on the huge antique sofa near by. Instead of having legs, the base of the sofa was a carved sphinx, a sadly battered sphinx, whose two breasts had been cut off because Barnard’s spinster aunts had deemed them immodest! Just as Barnard lighted another cigarette, a man, lying on the sofa, rolled over and viewed him in stupid wonder. “Feeling better, Cooper?” inquired Barnard politely. “How’d I get here?” asked Joe, ignoring the other’s question. “And where am I, anyhow?” “These are my diggings, and I brought you over here because you were so hopelessly pickled I judged your sister had better be spared a glimpse of you.” Slowly memory of the night returned to Joe’s befuddled brain, and he sat bolt upright. “Washington isn’t so slow,” he volunteered, after due reflection. “There are plenty of people to help you go to the devil, here as elsewhere,” retorted Barnard. “Better pull up, Cooper, it doesn’t pay.” “Nothing pays,” Joe growled disconsolately. “D--mn it, man, I don’t want to listen to a temperance lecture,” and he rose a trifle unsteadily. “Sit down, Cooper,” Barnard scanned him contemptuously, and Joe sulkily resumed his seat. “I’ve said my say.” “Lot’s of snobs here,” commented Joe, after nursing his grievances in silence for some time. “Take Duncan Fordyce, for instance; turned me down this evening when I asked to be introduced to a girl he was dancing with. I’ll get even with him, never fear.” Barnard ran an appraising eye over his companion, and a mental picture of Duncan brought a smile to his lips. “Don’t try any hanky-panky business with Fordyce,” he advised. “He might knock you into the other world.” “I’m not such a fool as to try physical force; but there are other ways of getting even,” Joe frowned, then winked. “I know a thing or two about the Fordyce family.” Barnard blew ring after ring of smoke into the air and watched it evaporate with idle attention. “Go carefully, Cooper,” he cautioned. “Damages for slander are heavy.”