"Then came Raymond--this man's father. He somehow got it over to Mrs. Tweksbury--the real thing, you know, and she reached and got it over to _him_, that it was up to them to--keep it clean. Gee! Joan, her past sounds like a tract with all the sobs left out and a lot of iron put in. "Raymond, in a year or two, married a woman who lived only long enough to produce this man upon whose trail we're scouting. This Kenneth was a measly little offspring and his mother's people undertook to give him a chance to live. He picked up and he and his father became pals--Hannah rooted out a picture of them riding horseback. Then the father was thrown from his horse and killed right before the eyes of the boy, and that put him back years--he barely escaped. I don't believe he would have, from accounts, if Mrs. Tweksbury hadn't butted in at that point and made it a matter of honour to the boy to--to--carry on! "Well, once he mounted _that_ horse he rode it as he did all others--hard and grim. He never played in all his life. He's been making good. Society he loathes; women do not exist for him, outside of Mrs. Tweksbury. I bet he knows _her_ past and is paying back for his dad--he's like that. "Well, when I'd got everything Hannah had in her safe I had a burning desire to have a look at Mr. Kenneth Raymond myself. So this afternoon I went to his office----" "Pat!" cried Joan. "Oh! Pat, how could you?" "Easiest thing in the world, my lamb. You see, the chance of viewing a human being--with one fortune in his pocket and another coming to him when Mrs. Tweksbury lets go--actually on a job holding it down like grim death--was a sight to gladden the heart of a tramp like me. I sallied down to Wall Street and had some fun. "I found his building without a moment's delay and I casually asked the elevator boy where Mr. Raymond's office was, and the little chap grew effusive--either Mr. Raymond is lavish with tips, or the human touch, for his goings and comings are meat to that kid. "He told me I had better hustle, for at four-thirty every day Mr. Raymond beat it! The boy was an artist in word-painting. He described my man as a real toff, none of your little yappers. He's going to haul in the pile and playing honest-to-God--fair, too!" Joan burst out laughing. Patricia mimicked the ribald manner of the boy deliciously. Patricia nodded her thanks and went on: "Well, I hung around his corridor for ten minutes, Joan; and at four-thirty exactly his door opened and I had timed myself so perfectly that he tumbled over me and nearly knocked me down. "He has better manners than you might expect from such a deadly prompt person. He steadied me and looked positively concerned when he realized what a pretty, helpless little thing I am!" Patricia gave a wicked wink and lighted her fifth cigarette.