He went on and on, in an impassive monotone, repeating, word for word, the same phrases he had used for so long that they had lost all significance.

“Well,” broke in Jadwin, at last, “it was Scannel your partner, did for you. Scannel, I say. You know, Dave Scannel.”

The old man looked at him confusedly. Then, as the name forced itself upon the atrophied brain, there flashed, for one instant, into the pale, blurred eye, a light, a glint, a brief, quick spark of an old, long-forgotten fire. It gleamed there an instant, but the next sank again.

Plaintively, querulously he repeated:

“It was in seventy-eight.⁠ ⁠… I lost three hundred thousand dollars.”

“How’s your little niece getting on?” at last demanded Jadwin.