For several days nothing seemed to be happening, though Larry had a sense that unknown forces were gathering on distant isothermal lines and bad weather was bearing down upon him. During these days, trying to ignore that formless trouble, he gave himself with a most rigid determination to his new routine—the routine which he counted on to help him into the way of great things.

Every day he saw Maggie; sometimes he was in her company for an hour or more. He had the natural hunger of a young man to talk to a young woman; and, moreover, it is a severe strain for a man to be living under the same roof with the girl he loves and not to be on terms of friendship with her. But Maggie maintained her aloofness. She spoke only when she was pressed into it, and her speech was usually no more than a “yes” or a “no,” or a flashing phrase of disdain.

At times Larry had the feeling that, for all her repression, Maggie would have been glad to be more free with him. And he knew enough of human nature not to be too disheartened by her attitude. Had he been a nonentity to her, she would have ignored him. Her very insults were proof that he was a positive personality with real significance in her life. And so he counseled himself to have patience and await a thawing or an awaking. Besides, he kept repeating to himself, there would be small chance of effecting a conversion in this militant young orthodoxist of cynicism until he had proved the soundness of contrary views by his own established success.

And thus the days drifted by. But on the fifth day after his interview with Barlow things began to happen. First of all, he noticed in a morning paper that Red Hannigan and Jack Rosenfeldt, members of his old outfit and suggested by Old Jimmie as participants in his proposed new enterprise, had just been arrested by Gavegan and Casey on the charge of alleged connection with the sale of fraudulent mining stock.

Second, on his return at the end of the afternoon, he saw standing before the house a taxicab with a trunk beside the chauffeur. In the musty museum of a room behind the pawnshop he found Hunt and the Duchess and Old Jimmie and Barney; and also Maggie, coming down the stairway, hat and coat on and carrying a suitcase. A sharp pain throbbed through him as he recognized the significance of Maggie's hat and coat and baggage.

“Maggie—you're going away?” he exclaimed.

“Yes.”

She had paused at the foot of the stairway, and at sight of him had gone a little pale and wide-eyed. But in an instant she had recovered her accustomed flair; there came a proud lift to her head, a flash of scorn into her dark eyes.

“At last I'm leaving this street for good,” she said. “I told you that some day I was going out into the world and do big things. The time's come—I'm graduated—I'm going to begin real work. And I'm going to succeed—you see!”

“Maggie!” he breathed. Then impulsively he started toward her authoritatively. “Maggie, I'm not going to let you do anything of the sort!”

But swiftly Barney had stepped in between them, Old Jimmie just behind him.

“Keep out of this!” Barney snapped at Larry, a reddish blaze in his eyes. “Maggie's going away and you can't stop her. D'you think her father is going to let her stay down here any longer, where you can spout your preaching at her!—and you all the time a stool and a squealer!”

“What's that?” cried Larry.

“I called you a stool!” repeated the malignantly exultant Barney, alert for any move on the part of the suddenly tensed Larry. “And you are a stool! Didn't I see you myself go into Headquarters with Casey and Gavegan where you sold yourself to Chief Barlow!”

“Why, you damned—”

Even before he spoke Larry launched a furious swing straight from the hip at Barney's twisted face. But Barney had been expecting exactly that, and was even the quicker. He caught Larry's wrist before it was fairly started, and thrust a dull-hued automatic into Larry's stomach.

“Behave; damn you,” gritted Barney, “or I'll blow your damned guts out! No—go ahead and try to hit me. I'd like nothing better than to kill you, you rat, and have a good plea of self-defense!”

Larry let his hands unclench and fall to his sides. “You've got the drop on me, Barney—but you're a liar.”

“You bet I got the drop on you! And not only with my gun. I've got it on you about being a stool. Everybody knows you are a stool. And what's more, they know you are a squealer!”

“A squealer!” Larry stiffened again.

“A stool and a squealer!” Barney fairly hurled at Larry these two most despised epithets of his world. “You've done your job swell as a stool, and squealed on Red Hannigan and Jack Rosenfeldt and turned them up for the police!”

“You believe I had anything to do with their arrest?” exclaimed Larry.

Barney laughed in his derision.

“Of course we believe it,” put in Old Jimmie, his seamed, cunning face now ruthlessly hard. “And what's more, we know it!”

“And what's still more,” Barney taunted, “Maggie believes it, too!”

Larry turned to Maggie. Her face was now drawn, with staring eyes.

“Maggie—do you believe it?” he demanded.

For a moment she neither spoke nor moved. Then slowly she nodded.

“But, Maggie,” he protested, “I didn't do it! Barlow did ask me to be a stool, but I turned him down! Aside from that, I know no more of this than you do!”

“Of course you'd deny it—we were waiting for that,” sneered Barney. “Jimmie, we've wasted enough time here. Take Maggie's bag and let's be moving on.”

Old Jimmie picked up Maggie's suitcase, and slipping a hand through her arm led her across the room. She did not even say good-bye to Hunt or the Duchess, or even glan............