He was fairly on the outer boundary now, though still very far outside.  But a needy gentleman inside was already compromised and practically pledged to support him; for his meeting with Jack Ruthven through Gerald had proven of greatest importance.  He had lost gracefully to Ruthven; and in doing it had taken that gentleman’s measure.  And though Ruthven himself was a member of the Siowitha, Neergard had made no error in taking him secretly into the deal where together they were now in a position to exploit the club, from which Ruthven, of course, would resign in time to escape any assessment himself.

Neergard’s progress had now reached this stage; his programme was simple—­to wallow among the wealthy until satiated, then to marry into that agreeable community and found the house of Neergard.  And to that end he had already bought a building site on Fifth Avenue, but held it in the name of the firm as though it had been acquired for purposes purely speculative.

* * * * *

About that time Boots Lansing very quietly bought a house on Manhattan Island.  It was a small, narrow, three-storied house of brick, rather shabby on the outside, and situated on a modest block between Lexington and Park avenues, where the newly married of the younger set were arriving in increasing numbers, prepared to pay the penalty for all love matches.

It was an unexpected move to Selwyn; he had not been aware of Lansing’s contemplated desertion; and that morning, returning from his final interview with Neergard, he was astonished to find his comrade’s room bare of furniture, and a hasty and exclamatory note on his own table: 

“Phil!  I’ve bought a house!  Come and see it!  You’ll find me in it!  Carpetless floors and unpapered walls!  It’s the happiest day of my life!

     “Boots!!!!  House-owner!!!”

And Selwyn, horribly depressed, went down after a solitary luncheon and found Lansing sitting on a pile of dusty rugs, ecstatically inspecting the cracked ceiling.

“So this is the House that Boots built!” he said.

“Phil!  It’s a dream!”

“Yes—­a bad one.  What the devil do you mean by clearing out?  What do you want with a house, anyhow?—­you infernal idiot!”

“A house?  Man, I’ve always wanted one!  I’ve dreamed of a dinky little house like this—­dreamed and ached for it there in Manila—­on blistering hikes, on wibbly-wabbly gunboats—­knee-deep in sprouting rice—­I’ve dreamed of a house in New York like this! slopping through the steaming paddy-fields, sweating up the heights, floundering through smelly hemp, squatting by green fires at night! always, always I’ve longed for a home of my own.  Now I’ve got it, and I’m the happiest man on Manhattan Island!”

“O Lord!” said Selwyn, staring, “if you feel that way!  You never said anything about it—­”

“Neither did you, Phil; but I bet you want one, too.  Come now; don’t you?”