Parkhurst finished by saying that Jerningham had no use for women. In divers countries world-famous sirens had sung to him--in vain. He was the kind that registered zero, even though plunged to the chin in Vesuvian lava. So the dear things might as well save time, breath, and muscular exertion; he would have none of them, no matter what their age, color of hair, temperament, accomplishments, or even faces might be. He was arrow-proof and Cupid had given up trying. Still, there must be One--somewhere! When J. Willoughby Parkhurst went to the Hotel Brabant on Monday morning in the hope of a second-day story, he was not sure how Jerningham would take his masterpiece. He was going so early in the hope of shunting off the head-line artists of the afternoon papers, for all that he had begged Stewart to fix it so that nobody got to Jerningham before the _Planet_ man turned up. As he entered the lobby he saw in a corner lounge five reporters from the yellows, three photographers from same, a professor from the Afternoon Three-Center, and a “psychological portraitist,” feminine and fat, but dressed with unusual care and even piquancy, from a magazine. He saw Jemingham's finish--not! The competitors were too busy talking to see J. Willoughby Parkhurst, author of the day's sensation, walk up to the desk and greet Stewart affectionately. They did not see J. W. P. turn sharply, approach a well-built, square-shouldered man, with an outdoor complexion, who had just emerged from the elevator, and shake hands warmly. After one and a half seconds of dialogue, consisting of “Good morning!” and “Good morning!” J. Willoughby cleverly realized that Mr. Alfred Jemingham could not possibly have read the article. On general principles he took the Klondiker to one end of the corridor, out of sight of the other reporters. “I am very anxious to make arrangements to store my gold in some bank's vaults. I don't know any bank--that is, I have no account in any; and I wondered if I needed to be introduced.” Jemingham looked anxiously at Parkhurst. “Of course!” said J. Willoughby, and immediately looked alarmed. “Of course! They are very particular--very! The good ones, you know. A man's bank is like a man's club--it can give him a social standing or it can prove he hasn't any.” He looked at his Klondike friend with a frown of anxiety. “I never thought of that side of it. But I can see there is much in what you say. I should like to put the gold in the VanTwiller Trust Company.” “Fine! I think I can help you. I'll call up our Wall Street man and he will make the trust company take it--unless he thinks there is another still better. Let's go to your room and telephone from there; and we'll tell Stewart to tell the telephone operator not to bother us--what?”