The younger man turned from the glass and nodded pleasantly.

"Why, yes," said the new John Blackwood, "I think I will."

Almost any man, old or young, who could dance at all would have been welcome at the Springs, for beaux were all too scarce, but the advent of young Blackwood, looking as he did on that particular night, would have been an event anywhere-that is, anywhere where many young girls who had reached the impressionable age were gathered together. Wayne was not the kind of man who was particularly partial to posing in the somewhat tricky rays of reflected glory, but there was certainly a devilish glint in his eye as, just before the cotillion began, he led his protegé around the circle of dancers and introduced him as "my friend-Mr. Blackwood."

There had been an understanding between Janet Hone and Wayne that they were to dance together, so it was arranged that Blackwood should dance with Eleanor Blythe, who in Wayne's estimation was certainly the second most attractive girl at the Springs. The dance happened to be a particularly elaborate affair, given by a family new to riches as well as to the Springs, and, as a consequence, the favors were unusually expensive and showy. It would not have been so easy for Wayne to prove this from his own experience as from the last look which he took at John Blackwood just as the band was playing "Home, Sweet Home." His young friend, still most immaculate in the borrowed high collar and the broad shirt bosom and the wonderfully fitting clothes, was decorated with as many ribbons, sashes, orders and medals as an Indian potentate, and the chair which he had occupied during the evening was fairly loaded down with tinsel junk and bore a strong resemblance to the grotto in a fairy pantomime. And the curious-or perhaps the most human-part of it was that no later than the intermission Blackwood was standing entirely on his own feet, and it is a question if even the young man himself remembered who had fairly plunged him into this vortex of success.

When it was all over and the guests had made their adieux, and after Wayne had left Janet Hone at the hotel door, he started in search of Eleanor Blythe and his young protegé. He met them at the steps, just as

they were leaving the piazza on the way to the girl's cottage.

"Good-night," Eleanor called to him, but Blackwood ran back to borrow a cigarette. Wayne gave him the cigarette and offered him a light from his cigar, but the young man said he had a match; and as he ran back to join the girl Wayne mumbled something to himself to the effect that he was glad Blackwood had something of his own.

For some moments he stood on the piazza, which was now almost deserted, looking out at the two figures as they disappeared into the darkness. Then he heard a low chuckle, and looking about saw his old friend, Peter Addicks, standing at his side.

"I want to take one turn before I go to bed," he said, and he put his arm through that of Wayne. Addicks was the youngest of all old men, and his knowledge of Madison Springs was much greater and went back much further than that of any of its other guests. He lighted a cigar and tossed the match over the railing.

"Who is your young friend?" he asked as they started to walk up the piazza. "Blackwood," Wayne said," John Blackwood."

"Blackwood?"Addicks repeated, "Blackwood? Of course-he must be a son of old Jack Blackwood down in Gordon County, Georgia. How curious-looks like him, too. Do you know if the old man or his mother is alive?"

"The mother is," Wayne said.

Addicks stopped for a moment while he took a stronger grip on the younger man's arm.

"Ah, my boy, there was a woman for you-one in ten thousand. Mary Bent she was then-the toast of the Springs in those days, and we all wanted to marry her, but Jack did the trick, and he had less to marry on than the most of us. This boy looks a good deal like him—same eyes and cleancut features, and the same manner, too. And, my boy, if you could have seen him play poker! It was a treat to watch that man bluff-the greatest card-player I ever saw."

They stopped in their walk, and leaning on the balustrade, looked out at the twinkling lights from the circle of cottages across the purple lawn.

"Has the boy money?" he asked.

For a moment Blackwood hesitated and then, unseen by the others, Wayne pressed a roll of bills into his hand, and the newcomer said that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to join so distinguished a party, and he said it, too, as if he meant it.

For half an hour Wayne, with ever-increasing admiration, looked on at the manner in which his protegé played poker. Never before had he seen such an exhibition of reckless daring and cold nerve. In the hands of the Southerner deuces assumed the dignity of aces, and, as manipulated by this arch-expert, a pair of treys seemed to possess the same winning qualities as a king full. The player's face was as mobile as a French comedian's and as unintelligible as that of the Sphinx, and it was with a genuine feeling of reluctance that Wayne finally convinced himself that it was time for bed.

"Go as far as you like," he whispered to Blackwood, and then, after a general "goodnight," he left the room with an easy conscience as to the fate of his recently invested capital.

It is possible that had he known the heights to which the limit of the game was finally raised, he would not have slept with the same tranquillity which he actually enjoyed. For, before the lamps spluttered out and the shutters were opened to let in the gray uncertain light of early morning on six tired, haggard faces of six men who were trying to "get back," the game had assumed proportions heretofore unknown at the Springs-proportions as detrimental to the nervous system and the tranquillity of a summer resort as to the pocketbooks of those most actively interested. Tales of that night and the amount of money that changed hands are still spoken of in the darkest corners of the hotel piazzas and always in whispers, and while the exact amount which the debonair and fascinating Mr. Blackwood really did take away that gray morning has never been known, it has nevertheless grown in each telling, to the most splendid proportions. Whatever the exact amount may have been, there is no question that about seven o'clock in the morning Blackwood, VOL. XLV.-48

"There's your money," he said, and laid Wayne's original roll of bills on the table at the bedside. "I didn't need it, as things turned out."

Wayne pulled himself to a sitting posture and blinked at his early visitor.

"That's all right," he said, "but I wasn't in such an awful hurry for the money that I couldn't wait until a respectable hour for it."

Blackwood smiled pleasantly. "I understand that, of course,” he replied, speaking with his slow Georgian accent, "but I knew that you would be glad to hear that I was going to explain to the clerk at the hotel as soon as he gets up, that I was able to pay regular board. You and he are the only people who know, and I think I can fix him. You see, with this money I won, I've graduated from the dancing-man class."

"Good," Wayne yawned, "but even that interesting news seems hardly sufficient cause for such a very early call. What time is it, anyhow?"

"About seven," Blackwood drawled; "but as a matter of fact, that wasn't what I wanted most to see you about. In the confusion last night I asked Miss Blythe to go riding at eight this morning. You knowa little ride before breakfast to get up an appetite-and, unfortunately, I haven't any riding things. Could you ?"

In silence Wayne threw back the bedclothes, and going to a curtain hung across a row of hooks which were fastened to the whitewashed wall, took down a pair of riding-breeches and then, and still in silence, fumbled about in a deep trunk until he had found a well-varnished pair of leggings.

Much

"That will do finely," Blackwood said, critically examining his new possessions. "Now for a plunge in the cold pool and I shall be feeling all right again. obliged. Very nice girl, that Miss Blythesaid some pleasant things about you, too. See you later."

By way of reply, Wayne, who was now quite awake, slowly nodded his head. Then he crossed the room again, and sitting on the edge of the bed for some moment stared wide-eyed at the door through which his new friend had made his exit.

"And I'll bet," he mumbled, as he slowly got back into bed and pulled the clothes up to his chin, "I'll bet in those riding things that boy will look like the original fairy prince. Damn him!"

After breakfast Janet Hone and Wayne met on the hotel porch, as they usually met every morning.

'Strange stories," Janet began as she vaulted up on the railing-"strange tales I've been hearing of your new friend. Where does he think he is-Monte Carlo? But that's always the way-to whom it hath. I hear that he is very rich."

Wayne gazed up at the light, blue sky and smothered a yawn. "He certainly dresses well."

Miss Hone looked at Wayne and drew her thin, pretty lips into a straight line.

"Isn't that like a man? Dresses well, eh? Why, that boy rises as superior to clothes as clothes do to a lay figure in a tailor's window. He has all the courtesy and the chivalry of the old South. His voice is the most soothing thing I ever heard, and every look from those big eyes when he is dancing with you is like a caress."

"Wonderful, marvellous young man," Wayne said, "especially if he can so easily affect you, Janet. Here he comes up the road now with Eleanor Blythe."

Blackwood helped the girl to dismount, and the two young people, flushed with their brisk ride, ran up the piazza steps.

"Isn't he splendid in his riding-clothes?" whispered Janet.

"Splendid," Wayne whispered with mock enthusiasm. "I said he'd look like a fairy prince in those togs."

"Whom did you say that to?" Janet asked.

"To myself. Do you think I'm doing press work for an Adonis like that?”

"Good-morning," Janet and Wayne called, and waved their hands to the young couple as they were hurrying by on their way to the dining-room.

"Oh, Wayne,' ," Blackwood threw over his shoulder. "Won't you and Miss Hone dine with me to-night? I hear there's a farm near here where they have the most wonderful Virginia cooking."

Wayne smiled grimly and shook his head. "And now he's giving dinner-parties."

"And why not?" demanded Miss Hone.

Wayne smiled. "Why not, indeed?" he repeated.

From that morning Blackwood became an integral, even important, factor in the life of the Springs. His methods were conspicuous almost to the point of being ostentatious, but he entertained much and entertained well, and the stories of his exceptional winnings at the Meeting-Room were therefore forgiven. Besides, the rumor was generally current that he was rich in his own right. To the young people of his age he gave many dinners at Ridge Road Farm; he also gave a tea on the Casino lawn to a large party of old ladies; and he gave a hay-ride and picnic to the children.

"You see," he said to Wayne, by way of explanation, "the tea to the old ladies makes me more or less immune from porch gossip, for one afternoon, anyhow, and the party for the children squares me with the young married folks. The dinners at the farm are altogether different-they are for my own pleasure."

"Of course," Wayne said, and walked away, wondering what Blackwood's eventual pleasure would be.

The Southerner neither played golf nor tennis, but he was always willing to follow a pretty girl over the links or to encourage her from the side lines of a tennis-court. Perhaps he did not indulge in these sports because he was not apt in them, or it may have been that he was too firm a believer in the old life of the Springs, when riding and driving and dancing were the only legitimate pastimes of true gentlemen; but whatever the cause, he was, apparently, omnipresent and always content. He was not averse to a long tramp over the hills, and he and his horse, which he now hired by the week, were ready and eager for a ridingparty at any time from sunrise until the moon hung high in the purple sky.

"And the wonderful thing to me about him," old Addicks said one day to Wayne, "is that with his multifarious social duties he always seems to have time to drop into a chair by an old lady or a spare half hour to dangle a kid on his knee, or tell a funny story to a group of old men. I tell you, Gordon County, Georgia, has given up its dead. That boy is his old man incarnate. I wonder sometimes what the lad's finish will be."