“I have it, Garry!  Suppose that I go to Mr. Morris.  I can talk to him, maybe, in a way you would not like to.”

Garry lifted his head and sat erect.

“No, by God!—­you’ll do nothing of the kind!” he cried, as he brought his fist down on the arm of his chair.  “That man I love as I love nothing else in this world—­wife—­baby—­nothing!  I’ll go under, but I’ll never let him see me crawl.  I’ll be Garry Minott to him as long as I breathe.  The same man he trusted,—­the same man he loved,—­for he does love me, and always did!” He hesitated and his voice broke, as if a sob clogged it.  After a moment’s struggle he went on:  “I was a damned fool to leave him or I wouldn’t be where I am.  ‘Garry,’ he said to me that last day when he took me into his office and shut the door,—­’Garry, stay on here a while longer; wait till next year.  If it’s more pay you want, fix it to suit yourself.  I’ve got two boys coming along; they’ll both be through the Beaux Arts in a year or so.  I’m getting on and I’m getting tired.  Stay on and go in with them.’  And what did I do?  Well, what’s the use of talking?—­you know it all.”

Jack moved his chair and put his arm over his shoulder as a woman would have done.  He had caught the break in his voice and knew how manfully he was struggling to keep up.

“Garry, old man.”

“Yes, Jack.”

“If Mr. Morris thought that way, then, why won’t he help you now?  What’s ten thousand to him?”

“Nothing,—­not a drop in the bucket!  He’d begin drawing the check before I’d finished telling him what I wanted it for.  I’m in a hole and don’t know which way to turn, but when I think of what he’s done for me I’ll rot in hell before I’ll take his money.”  Again his voice had the old ring.

“But, Garry,” insisted Jack, “if I can see Morris in the morning and lay the whole matter before him—­”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, do you hear!—­keep still—­ somebody’s coming downstairs.  Not a word if it is Corinne.  She is carrying now all she can stand up under.”

He passed his hand across his face with a quick movement and brushed the tears from his cheeks.

“Remember, not a word.  I haven’t told her everything.  I tried to, but I couldn’t.”

“Tell her now, Garry,” cried Jack.  “Now—­to-night,” his voice rising on the last word.  “Before you close your eyes.  You never needed her help as you do now.”

“I can’t—­it would break her heart.  Keep still!—­that’s her step.”

Corinne entered the room slowly and walked to Garry’s chair.

“Baby’s asleep now,” she said in a subdued voice, “and I’m going to take you to bed.  You won’t mind, Jack, will you?  Come, dear,” and she slipped her hand under his arm to lift him from his chair.

Garry rose from his seat.

“All right,” he answered assuming his old cheerful tone, “I’ll go.  I am tired, I guess, Cory, and bed’s the best place for me.  Good-night, old man,—­give my love to Ruth,” and he followed his wife out of the room.