"Go on; there's no holding you."
"You start out to-morrow and order your war kit. Get everything you need, and plenty of it, and have the bills sent to me. You can be ready inside a fortnight. The day you start I'll advance you five hundred dollars. When you're married you can repay me the amount of the advances with interest at ten per cent, and I'll consider it a mighty good deal for myself. Now, will you?"
"You mean it?"
"Every word of it. Well?"
For a moment longer Duncan hesitated; then the vision of what he must return to, otherwise, decided him. In desperation he accepted. "It's a drowning man's straw," he said, a little breathlessly. "I'm sure I shouldn't. But I will."
Kellogg flung a hand across the table, palm uppermost.
"Word of honour, Nat?"
Duncan let his hand fall into it. "Word of honour! I'll see it through."
"Good! It's a bargain." Kellogg lifted his glass high in air. "To the fortune hunter!" he cried, half laughing.
Duncan nervously fingered the stem of his glass. "God help the future Mrs. Duncan!" he said, and drank.