6 The Acorn Mounting a flight of stairs, he rapped lightly upon door 217. McGraw opened it and extended his hand. Surprised, O'Leary grasped it and gave it a half hearty shake. "Glad to see you," said McGraw. "Come in and sit down." Tom entered, took a seat and waited for McGraw, to tell him why he was glad to see him. "I called you up to-night to talk over this safe proposition." "Glad to do it," said Tom, with a little sarcasm in his voice. "You haven't given time and place yet." "Nor do I intend to." McGraw reported, then added in a milder tone, "I understand you are going away, O'Leary to Ireland." "Yes, perhaps I am, for a little while." "For a little while? Why a little while?" O'Leary arose and faced the other squarely. "The best of luck hasn't been with me, Ireland is dear to me, but money and the comforts it brings are here in America. McGraw, I came from Ireland six years ago, I left a little girl there, and I promised to return as soon as I built a nest, and bring her back with me to share it. I worked hard for two years and saved. Each week I received a message from her encouraging me; but for that I might have given up and gone back. Then an accident happened. I was working on a building when a loose brick fell and struck me on the head. For over two years I was as a little child again, the past was blotted out, my memory was gone. By careful nursing my mind was restored. Hard? Yes, it seemed so then, when they told me that I had lost more than two years. "Since those first two years of hard work I have not heard a word from her. Eighteen months ago I started to work for the company I am representing, and worked up to this position. I can go back now, I will, and I shall find her. She will be waiting for me. I do not know how it would be with you, McGraw, but the sun has not marked the close of a single day but what I was conscious that I loved her more. To-night, as I walked, I imagined she were by my side. The air seemed to be the breath of roses, and I felt the touch of her warm hand and heard her voice, the music of her soul. Do you wonder that I am going back? that I can think of nothing else?" While he talked McGraw grew pale and nervous. He was several times on the point of interrupting, but refrained. Now he spoke and his voice was unsteady. "Listen, O'Leary, I shall now tell you something that I have feared to tell before. Two years ago I visited my old home in Scotland. There Christmas, 1909. 7 I met a sad little girl from Ireland. I don't know just how it came about, but I was with her most of the time. I noticed that when we were together her sadness was swallowed up in something else. I learned to love her, and she perhaps returned it in a measure, but never would she listen to me when I tried to tell her of of I had a lonely little home over here waiting for some one to make it a heaven. "One day she told me her story and I lied to her, I told her that you were dead." At these words O'Leary sprang to his feet, his muscles tense, self-control gone. "You you," he would have struck had not McGraw backed and held up his hands imploringly, "Wait wait!" O'Leary recovered himself and moved slowly back as the other came forward, holding in his hand a photograph. Tom took it, glanced at it, and let it fall from his fingers to the floor, and he stood with bowed head. The picture was of her and of McGraw and a baby. McGraw was saying something, but he did not hear. "I called you up to-night to offer you money, plenty of it, to go away and surrender this safe business. I intended to let you go to Ireland without saying anything about her, but I did, and I don't know just why." O'Leary gave no signs of having heard, and McGraw opened a drawer, took out a package, and dropped it into Tom's pocket. Tom did not notice this act, as he turned and slowly left the room. He walked down the stairs and out upon the street. The crowd carried him on where, he did not care. The next day he engaged a passage on a steamer bound for Australia. An hour before sailing he entered the office of the Daily Times and announced time and place for McGraw, knowing that the International Safe Co. would have no man to meet the challenge. He was thinking of her. From the Times' office he walked to the Western Union telegraph office and wired his company; "I AM GOING AWAY, AM SICK. SEND A MAN TO 976 E. BROAD AVE., WHERE I HAVE LEFT ALL RECORDS OF BUSINESS DONE." He went to the docks and called a messenger and gave him a short note addressed to 217 Butler Annex. McGraw received it and read: "I am going away to-night if you tell her of me, I shall return and throw your worthless carcass in the sea." T. O'LEARY. -L, H. Greenwell, '10.