Suddenly Spencer's right fist came down on the table with a resounding
whack. "Kathleen turned me down this morning." Whitney's eyes were
riveted on his guest but he said nothing, and Spencer continued
earnestly. "I want you to use your influence...."

"No." The monosyllable was spoken quietly, but the gleam in Whitney's
eyes was a silent warning. "We will leave my daughter's name out of the
discussion. Was there anything else you wished to see me about? If
not...." and he half rose.

Instead of answering Spencer lolled back in his chair and, taking his
time, lighted a cigar.

"Your note for twenty thousand dollars is due in ten days," he announced.
"Are you prepared to take it up?"

There was a protracted pause before Whitney spoke. "Are you willing
to let me curtail your note with a payment of five thousand
dollars?" he asked.

"No."

Whitney's hand closed spasmodically over the bottle of whiskey, and he
was livid with anger as he glared at the younger man. Spencer's good
looks were marred by signs of recent dissipation, and the coarse lines
about his thin lips destroyed the air of refinement given him by his
well-cut clothes. Whitney cast a despairing look about the room, at the
pretty knick-knacks, pictures, and handsome furniture--all indicated a
cultivated woman's taste. How his wife loved her belongings!