CHAPTER XXX
GREGG was coming to Evanston by the elevated railroad; for of course he had returned Jim Cuncliffe's roadster a couple of days before. He had not returned to Jim the fifty dollars he had borrowed because he was not able to; but he did have it noted, along with an exactly itemized and totalled reckoning of his other debts, in a memorandum book which Bill once had given him and which he had never used.
As the electric train sped by Fullerton, crossed Sheridan Road and now as it passed Wilson Avenue, Gregg wanted to keep his thoughts and his feelings wholly on Marjorie; but unbidden flashes of recollection kept bringing in Bill.
"It's his own life." That was what he, Gregg, had said to Jim Cuncliffe when back there in March—how long ago and yet only in March—Jim had told him that Russell meant to get Charles Hale and that Gregg must interfere. "It's his own life." He had meant by that Mr. Hale's life was his own, individual affair. But it had proved to be Bill's life which had been at stake; yes, and Gregg's own life, too; for he could remind himself that Russell had almost succeeded in killing him.
And he thought of his ride to Evanston with Bill along a snowy road—along Sheridan Road, over there where the cars in midsummer number now were streaming; he thought how he had gone sick at the moment when he imagined what might happen if Marjorie
