Outside the door the puzzled crook met Brewster, who shook him warmly by the hand.

“You’re a peach,” whispered Bill, gratefully “What did you do it for, mister?”

“Because you were kind enough not to cut my shirt.”

“Say, you’re all right, that’s what.  Would you mind havin’ a drink with me?  It’s your money, but the drink won’t be any the worse for that.  We blowed most of it already, but here’s what’s left.”  Bill handed Monty a roll of bills.

“I’d a kept it if you’d made a fight,” he continued, “but it ain’t square to keep it now.”

Brewster refused the money, but took back his watch.

“Keep it, Bill,” he said, “you need it more than I do.  It’s enough to set you up in some other trade.  Why not try it?”

“I will try, boss,” and Bill was so profuse in his thanks that Monty had difficulty in getting away; As he climbed into a cab he heard Bill say, “I will try, boss, and say, if ever I can do anything for you jes’ put me nex’.  I’m nex’ you all de time.”

He gave the driver the name of his club, but as he was passing the Waldorf he remembered that he had several things to say to Mrs. Dan.  The order was changed, and a few moments later he was received in Mrs. Dan’s very special den.  She wore something soft and graceful in lavender, something that was light and wavy and evanescent, and made you watch its changing shadows.  Monty looked down at her with the feeling that she made a very effective picture.

“You are looking pretty fit this morning, my lady,” he said by way of preamble.  “How well everything plays up to you.”

“And you are unusually courtly, Monty,” she smiled.  “Has the world treated you so generously of late?”

“It is treating me generously enough just now to make up for anything,” and he looked at her.  “Do you know, Mrs. Dan, that it is borne in upon me now and then that there are things that are quite worth while?”

“Oh, if you come to that,” she answered, lightly, “everything is worth while.  For you, Monty, life is certainly not slow.  You can dominate; you can make things go your way.  Aren’t they going your way now, Monty”—­this more seriously—­“What’s wrong?  Is the pace too fast?”

His mood increased upon him with her sympathy.  “Oh, no,” he said, “it isn’t that.  You are good—­and I’m a selfish beast.  Things are perverse and people are desperately obstinate sometimes.  And here I am taking it out on you.  You are not perverse.  You are not obstinate.  You are a ripper, Mrs. Dan, and you are going to help me out in more ways than one.”

“Well, to pay for all these gallantries, Monty, I ought to do much.  I’m your friend through thick and thin.  You have only to command me.”

“It was precisely to get your help that I came in.  I’m tired of those confounded dinners.  You know yourself that they are all alike—­the same people, the same flowers, the same things to eat, and the same inane twaddle in the shape of talk.  Who cares about them anyway?”