meeting for him with Trimmer and his proposition. The proposition fled into the night. It seems he was the son of an old servant of your father's—Jenkins by name."
"Surely! Surely that was Jenkins! I thought I'd seen the chap somewhere—couldn't quite recall— Well, at any rate, he's out of the way. Now the thing to do is to see good old George at once—"
He went to the telephone, and got his brother's room.
"George!" A surprising note of affection crept into his lordship's voice. "George, old boy—this is Allan. I'm waiting for you in my rooms."
"Dear old chap," said his lordship, turning away from the telephone. "Twenty-three years since he has seen one of his own flesh and blood! Twenty-three years of wandering in this Godforsaken country—I beg your pardon, Minot. I wonder what he'll say to me. I wonder what George will say after all those years."
Nervously Allan Harrowby walked the floor. In a moment the door opened, and the tall, blond Chicago man stood in the doorway. His blue eyes
