To-morrow, if Reynolds deigned to appear with his check, he would summon Mrs.Haggerty, and the studio should have a cleaning that the mercenary old beldame would remember.

Kenny vaguely coupled Mrs.Haggerty with the present disorder and resented both, his defiant eyes lingering with new interest upon a jumble of musical instruments in a corner.
With a muffled objurgation he fell upon the jumble and began to overhaul it.

The object sought defied his fevered efforts to unearth it and with teeth set, he ransacked the studio, resentfully flinging a melee of hindrances right and left.
The telephone rang.
"Kenny," said Garry's patient voice, "what in Heaven's name are you doing?
What hit the wall ?" "I'm hunting the stick to that damned psaltery," snapped Kenny and banged the receiver into the hook, one hand as usual clenched frenziedly in his hair.
Later, with the studio a record of earthquake, he found it under a model stand and wiping his forehead anchored it to the psaltery for good and all with a shoestring.
Horribly depressed he thumped on the wall for Garry, who came at once, wondering wryly if Brian had come in and the need again was mediation.
"You might as well know," began Kenny at once, "that Brian didn't go up to Reynolds for me this noon--" Garry stared.
"It was a lie," flung out Kenny with a jerk, "a damnable, deliberate, indecent lie.

Whitaker says he's gone for good." His look was wistful and indignant.

"Garry, what's wrong ?" he demanded.