In vain did he hopefully fix date after date with the slippery Rex—­something always interfered.  Twice, to his knowledge, it had been the chance of seeing a girl from Orange which had thrown over the chance of seeing the man of influence and power.  Once the evening had been definitely arranged with Judge Rush himself, and Reed was obliged to go alone and report that the candidate had disappeared into a tenement district and no one knew where to find him.  The effect of that was fortunately good—­Judge Rush was rather pleased than otherwise that a young clergyman should be so taken up with his work as to forget his interests.  But Reed was most anxious that this evening’s appointment should go off successfully, while Rex was as light-hearted as a bird.  Any one would have thought it was Reed’s own future he was laboring over instead of that of the youngster who had a gift of making men care for him and work for him without effort on his own part.

The two walked down Broadway toward the elevated road, Rex’s dark eyes gathering amusement here and there in the crowded way as they went.

“Look at Billy Strong—­why there’s Billy Strong across the street.  Come over and I’ll present you, Carty.  Just the chap you want to meet.  He’s a great athlete—­on the water-polo team of the New York Athletic Club, you know—­as much of an old sport as you are.”  And Reed found himself swung across and standing before a powerful, big figure of a man, almost before he could answer.  There was another man with the distinguished Billy, and Reed had not regarded the two for more than one second before he discovered that they were both in a distinct state of intoxication.  In fact, Strong proclaimed the truth at once, false shame cast to the winds.  He threw his arm about Rex’s neck with a force of affection which almost knocked down the quartette.

“Recky,” he bubbled, “good old Recky—­bes’ fren’ ev’ had—­I’m drunk, Recky—­too bad.  We’re both drunk.  Take’s home.”  Rex glanced at his cousin in dismay, and Strong repeated his invitation cordially.  “Take’s home, Recky,” he insisted, with the easy air of a man who confers an honor. “’S up to you, Recky.”

Rex looked at his frowning cousin doubtfully, pleadingly.

“It almost seems as if it was, doesn’t it, Carty?” he said.  “We can’t leave them like this.”

“I don’t see why we can’t—­I can,” Reed asserted.  “It’s none of our business, Rex, and we really haven’t time to palaver.  Come along.”

[Illustration:  “Recky,” he bubbled, “good old Recky—­bes’ fren’ ev’ had”]

The gentle soul of Rex Fairfax was surprisingly firm.  “Carty, they’d be arrested in five minutes,” he reasoned.  “It’s a wonder they haven’t been already.  And Billy’s people—­it would break their hearts.  I know some of them well, you see.  I was with him only last week over in Orange.”

“Oh!” Reed groaned.  “That Girl from Orange again.”  He opened his lips once more to launch nervous English against this quixotism, but Strong interposed.