That winter passed, then the summer; September and October came and went, and by the middle of November the rains set in.

One very wet afternoon toward the end of the month Charlie Geary sat at his desk in his own private office.

He was unoccupied for the moment, leaning back in his swivel chair, his feet on the table, smoking a cigar.

Geary had broken from his old-time habit of smoking only so many cigars as he could pay for by saving carfare.

He was doing so well now that he could afford to smoke whenever he chose.