"I never got a letter," said Garrod quickly.
"That's funny," said Jack. "Letters don't often go astray."
"Don't you believe me?" demanded Garrod sharply.
Jack stared. "Why, sure!" he said. "What's biting you? You're in a rotten state of nerves," he went on. "Better chuck the life you're leading, and stay up here for a year or two. What's the matter with you?"
Garrod passed the back of his hand across his weary eyes. "Can't sleep," he muttered.
"Never heard of a man up here that couldn't do his eight hours a night," said Jack. "You'd better stay."
Garrod made no answer.
"You're not still hitting the old pace?" asked Jack.
Garrod shook his head.
"Gad! what a pair of young fools we were! Trying to cut a dash on bank-clerks' salaries! That girl did me a mighty good turn without meaning it when she chucked me for the millionaire. What's become of her, Frank?"