No man is so systematic, none is so well ordered in his affairs,
that he can cut out a slice of his life at a moment's notice
without suffering many kinds of loss and inconvenience. Although
Anthony was a youth of few responsibilities, he awoke suddenly to
the fact that there were a thousand things that needed doing, a
thousand people who needed to know his whereabouts, a thousand
things that were bound to go wrong. For instance, there was his
brand-new French car, standing with motor blanketed beside the
Forty-fifth Street curb.
What had happened to it, and to the urchin he had left in charge
of it? He owed a thousand dollars on its purchase, which he had
promised to pay yesterday. Then, too, he had neglected his house
account at the University Club, and it was long overdue. That
remittance from his father had come just in the nick of time.
Suddenly he recalled placing the check in his bill-case, and he
searched himself diligently, but found nothing. That reminded him
that he had won a bet or two on the football game and the money
needed collecting. There was the shooting trip to Cape Cod as
well. He was due there to-day for a week-end among the geese and
brant. What would Benny Glover think when he failed to show up or
even telegraph? Benny's sister was coming down from Boston with
some friends and--oh, it was simply imperative that he get some
word ashore.
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