Thirty   By: Howard Vincent O'Brien (1888-1947)

by

HOWARD VINCENT O'BRIEN

Author of "New Men for Old."

Illustrated by Robert W. Amick

New York Dodd, Mead and Company 1915

Copyright. 1915 By Dodd Mead & Company

TO MY MOTHER WHO SOUGHT ALWAYS TO MAKE ME LOVE THE TRUTH, THOUGH KNOWING THAT MY TRUTH WOULD NOT, IN THE NATURE OF THINGS, BE HERS.

[Illustration: "What right have you to put such impudent questions to us, anyway?" he demanded hotly]

CONTENTS

I AN UNINVITED GUEST

II A BLOW AND A RESOLUTION

III "YOU DON'T KNOW MR. IMRIE"

IV OIL AND WATER

V A SLEEPER WAKES

VI DEAD IDOLS

VII "IF PEOPLE ONLY KNEW !"

VIII THE GREATEST GAME IN THE WORLD

IX BURNED BRIDGES

X A BLUFF CALLED

XI "TEARS ... AND THEN ICE"

XII ONLY A WOMAN

XIII THE PILOT GOES OVERBOARD

XIV A SECRET REVEALED

XV "THIRTY" AND ANOTHER STORY

ILLUSTRATIONS

"What right have you to put such impudent questions to us, anyway?" he demanded hotly.

It was hard to refuse Imrie a million times harder than all the rest

"I say, you know," he said between puffs, "business is the greatest game in the world"

The air was surcharged with expectancy

THIRTY

CHAPTER I

AN UNINVITED GUEST

Roger Wynrod was the first down to breakfast, and he was feeling far from well. But a glass of bitters, followed by half a grapefruit and a large cup of coffee, made him more nearly his usual cheerful self. He had a word and a smile for each one of the houseparty, as they straggled in, albeit the memory of last night's disastrous game haunted him uncomfortably. The fact was that once again he faced the necessity of appealing to his sister for further funds, and he had his doubts as to how she would take it.

The meal lacked something of the cheer usually characteristic of Judith Wynrod's gatherings. Perhaps it was due to the lateness of the hour and the feverishly high stakes of the night before, or perhaps it was only the sultriness of the morning. At any rate, a certain constraint was in evidence, and no one showed any desire to linger longer than was necessary. As one by one her guests withdrew, with more or less perfunctory excuses, Judith remained sprightliness itself, laughingly protesting at the desertion of Faxon, suddenly called to town on private business, and threatening dire things to vivacious little Mrs. Baker if her dentist detained her too long to catch the late afternoon train. But when they were all gone, little lines of weariness crept into her face, and she arose irresolutely and stood for a while watching her brother who, deeply sunk in the columns of baseball news, was unconscious of her scrutiny.

She studied him thoughtfully, the corners of her mouth drooping. It was that feature which modified her otherwise complete resemblance to her brother. She had the same undulant black hair, the same oval face and olive complexion, the same snapping eyes. But where his mouth was merely handsome, or, perhaps, better, affectionate, hers was firm and determined. One might say, in comparing the two, that if Roger wanted anything he would ask for it, whereas Judith would demand it.

She herself was not conscious of anything approaching such masterfulness or determination in her character. She had never experienced the sensation of breaking down opposition. But that was merely because there had never been any opposition offered her. Orphaned when scarce out of childhood, with an incredible fortune and no near relatives, she, like her brother, had had only to ask; it had never been necessary to demand. But of the latent strength of her will there were not lacking evidences.