warned that this was no time to start an argument. Besides his passenger began to display an alarming weakness. He wobbled in his seat, and the young man slipped an arm unobtrusively round him where assistance could be prompt if he should faint, and steered skillfully with one hand, making toward Grosse Pointe with all speed possible over the rather poor dirt road.
"My Lord! I wonder if he's dying!" the young man groaned in anxiety, whereat old Stephen roused enough to gasp grimly.
"Not yet—small thanks to you."
However again came contradiction of his stout words. His head dropped and he was off again until the car had come to a stop under the porte cochère.
But the approach of the little car had been noted by some eye in the great stone house; the banker's inert form had been recognized, and instant alarm been taken. A butler came running down the granite steps, leaving the door wide open behind him, and between the two men Mr. Gilman suffered himself to be lowered and half-borne upward to his hall.
"A glass of Scotch, Bolton, quick!" the banker gasped and indicated his desire to be eased into a chair, where he sat waiting for the stimulant with his head in his hand.
"Where is Mrs. Gilman or Fay?" he asked
