The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 9, 1904, Page 3

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. bluc-gray eyes were apt them. David Ke folds of her lo to con letter was hidden irm se waisted morn- d it stirred her of time w ot oblivious of ve want to go rai! routes time- T all c ce Ke s letter, and West- . s “W v to our s as gone down a tion of Gov- stairs to indifferent either had sentiment in had d when & in that ood jud also the pa for in- folk. in awe, sonality, but I 1« >d sum- as e s of the .| as the granite of er t lis takes polish—rel prejudice to ucture. its Elinor csz ou; there bloed in a2 drop of th er of you, I do be or sufli daughter to hold he mother’s reproaches; s0, there was enough of the Grimkie blood in her veins to stiffen her yposition when said nothing. le Ichabod made ss of that copper business in Mo a we have all been next door to poverty, and you know it,” the mother went on, Irritated by Grim E silence. “I don't care so much for myself; your father and I began with nothing, and I can go back to pothing if cessary. But you can’t, and neither can Penelope; you'd both starve. I should like to know what Brockes Ormsby has done that t toler: 1 N has done, or wearil * said ¥ “Please let's not go over it all agz failed to do, or, n, mother.” Brentwood let t red another. sppose he came to say good-by. is he going to do with himself = nptation to equivocate for € ity's sake was strong upon and she yielded to 1t. should I know? He has the and the Florida coast, at gun cool Brentwood groaned. nk of the way he squanders 1 sheer dissipation!” she exclaimed, "“Of course, he will take an ntire houseparty with him, as usual, cost of t one cruise would t 1 up hc zeeping.” Penclope laughed with a younger daughter's license. She was a stat- ues: ung nan with a pose, ripe v i white teeth, laughing eyes wit np of mischief in them, ar turned up nose that which was severely classic, nor the Grimkie, which was pure Puritan renaissance. Which is to intimate that he won't y enouzh left to do it when che commented. *“I 1d to give me what s income after he has spent all he can on the Fiorida cruise. 1'd wear’ Worth gowns and bé lapped ury for the next ten years at the 1"t going to Florida this win- said Elinor, repenting her of the mall guibble. “He's golng West.” Brentwood looked up sharply. s?" she queried. CHAPTER IV. The Fleshpots of Egypt. The westward journey began at the appointed hour in the evening with the resourceful Ormsby in.command; and when the outsetung, in which she had to tain only the part of an obedient ton, was a fact accom- settled back into the of her sleeping-car sec- e unwonted sensation of She had traveled more or less with her mother and Pen ever since h her's death, ana was well used to taking the helm. Experience and the resp es had made her self- liant, and her jesting boast that she a dependable young woman was imple truth. Yet to the most mod- ern of girl bachelors there may come when the soul harks back to l-woma and the desire >tted and looked after and sa r than the bachelor e- sections the inevitable away newly married pair posed unconscious- al for Miss Brent- i the eagerly antici- solicitude of the boyish groom, v and then with ve attentions, It rd and sentimental, yet she was not with- art-stirring of envy self-satisfied com- f a gisl done to m self-defend- ? Nothing, ing more immer does drift with the ss, the immunity Ipably. For 1i Brent- f looking, with a lit- rawal aud dismay, a—possible to an of twenty- broken years of eipings. ough to walk this one — single-hearted on holding out agains ur; against Orm: masterful g against her own uz = long ng for a sure ¢ haven of man- rvision; all this that re her ir which, d et her own? nes when she doubted d this first night of >y was one of She had thought at one time she might be able to idealize Kent, but he had gone his way to hew out his fortune, taking her u on in a purely far as she there was She could by no ssibility him. He was a ed fact, nly asserted. Yet he s a great hearted gentleman, un- viled by his millions, thoughtful al her c fort, . u time i 1 found hers tle shudder of the them of ge . se effacing. Just now, for example, when he had done 1, he had seemed to h to be alone and had f to the smoking com- partme "3 d not to bore yo he and I sha'n’t. Send the ter me if th is anything I have forgotten to do.” e took up the mag he had left on the seat beside her and sought to put am But they r now v the disquieting thoughts. fused to be dismissed, and among them rose up another, dating back to that idealizing sum- mer at the foot of Old Croydon, and having its genesis in a hard saying of her mothe: She words clos her re: and the occasion. wasting time and sentiment on eyes, young upstart of a country law- er, Elinor. So long as you were con- tent to make it a summer day's amusement, I had nothing to say; you are old enough and sensible enough to e your own recreations. ce to yourself, no less than to you must let it end with our go- ome. ¢ enough Her eyes grew hot under the closed when aembered. At the lids time the hard saying was evoked there was money enough for two, if David Kent would have shared it. But he had held his peace and gone away, and now there was not enough for d her major weakness She was not a slave tc luxuries—the luxuries of the very rich. On the contrary, she had tried to make herself believe that hardness was a part of her creed. But latterly, she had been made to see that there was a formidable array of things which Brookes Ormsby's wife might reckon among the simplest necessities of the dafly life, but which David Kent's wife might have to forego; nay, things which Elinor Brentwood might presently have to forego. For she cempelled herself to front the fact of the diminished patrimony square- ly. So long as the modest Western Pacific dividends were forthcoming, they could like comfortably and with- out § ching. But failing these. “No, I'm rot great enough,” she con- fessed, with a little shiver. “I should be utterly miserable. If I could afford to indulge in ideals it would be differ- ent; but I can’'t—not when one word of mine will build a barrier so high that all the soul-killing little skimp- ings can never climb over it. And be- sides, T owe something to mother and Nell.” it was the final straw. When any weakness of the human heart can find a seeming virtue to go hand in hand with it, the battle is as good as lost; and at that moment Brookes Ormsby, placidly refiiling his short pipe in the smoking-room of the Pullman, was by no means in the hopeless case he was sometimes temoted to fancy himselM. As may be surmised, a diligent suitor, o0l4 enough to plan thoughtfully, and vet young enough to stimulate the youthful ardor of a lover whose hair has not begun to thin at the temples, would lose no ground in a three days’ journey and the opportunities it af- forded. In Penelope's phrase, Elinor “suf- fered him,” enjoying her freedom from care like a sleepy Kkitten; shutting the door on the past and keeping it shut until the night when their through sleeper was coupled to the Western Pacific Flyer at A. and T. Junction. But late that evening, when she was rummaging her handbag for a hand- kerchief, she came upon David Kent's letter and read it again. “Loring tells me you are coming \West,” he wrote. *“I assume there is at least one chance in three that you will pass through Gaston. If you do, and if the hour is not altogether im- But in’ possible, I should like to meet your train. One thing among the many the past two years have denied me—the only thing I have cared much about, I think—is the sight of your face. I shall be very happy if you will let me look at you—just for the minute or two the train may stop.” There was more of it; a good bit more; but it was all guarded common- place, opening no window in the heart of the man David Kent. Yet even in the commonplace she found some faint interlinings.of the change in him; not a mere metamorphosis of the outward man, as a new environment might make, but a radical change, deep and biting, like the action of a strong acid upon a fine-; ined metal. She returred the ‘letter to its envel- ope, and after looking up Gaston on the time-table fell into a heart-stirring reverie, with unseeing eye fixed on the restful blackness of the night rushing rearward past the car windows. “He has forgotten,” she said, with a little lip-curl of disappointment. ‘He thinks he ought to remember, and he is trying—trying because Grantham said something that made him think he ought to try. But it's no use. It was only a little summer -idyl, and we have both outlived it.” She was still gazing steadfastly upon the wall of outer darkness when the perter began to make down the berths and Penelope came over to sit in the opposite seat. ' A moment later the younger sister made a discovery, or ought she did. ‘Why, Elinor Brentwood!” she said. “I believe you are crying! Elinor’s smile was serenity undis- turbed. . ““What a vivid imagination you have, Nell, dear,” scoffed. Then she changed the subject arbitrarily: *Is mother quite comfortable? Did you have . the porter put a screen in her window ?—You know she always insists she can't breathe without it.” Penelope evaded the queries and took her turn at subject wrenching—an art in which she excelled. “We are on our own railroad now, aren’t we?"” she asked, with purposeful ck-interest. nd—let me see—isn't Mr. Kent at some little town we pass through?” “It is a city name is Gaston. “I remember now.” Penelope rejoined. “I wonder if we shall see him?” “It is most unlikely. He does not know we are coming and he wouldn't be looking for us.” Penelope’'s fine eyes clouded. At times Elinor’'s thought processes were as plain as print to the younger sis- ter; at other times they were not. “I should think the least we could do weuld be to let him know,” she ven- tured. “Does anybody know what time the train passes Gaston?” *“At 7:15 o’clock to-morrow evening,” was the unguarded reply; and Pene- lope drew her own conclusions from the ready answer and the folded time table in Elinor’s lap. “Well, why don’t you wire? I'm sure I should.” “Why should 1?" said Elinor warily. “Oh, I don’'t know; any other young woman of his acquaintance would, I fancy. I have half a mind to do it myself. I like him, if you don’t care for him any more.” Thus Penelope; and = little while afterward, finding herself in the li- brary compartment with blanks and pen and ink convenient and nothing better to do, she impuisively made the threat good in a ten-word message to Kent. “If he should happen to drop in un- expectedly it will give Ellie the shock of her life,” she mused; and the tele- gram was smuggled into the hands of the porter to be sent as occasion offered. Those who know Mr. Brookes Orms- by best were wont to say that the world of action, 2 world lusting avidly for re- sourceful men, had lost the chance of acquiring a promising leader when he was born heir to the Ormsby millions. Be that as it may, he made the most of such opportunities for the exercising of his gift as came to one for whom the long purse leveled most barriers—had been making the most of the present leaguer of a woman's heart—a citadel whose capitulation was not to be com- passed by mere money-might, he would have said. Up to the final day of the long west- ward flight all things had gone well with him. True, Elinor had not thawed visibly, but she had been tolerant; Penelope had amused herself at no one's expense save her own—a boon for which Ormsby did not fail to be duly’ thankful; and Mrs. Brentwood had contributed her mite by keeping hands off. But at the dining-car luncheon on the last day’s run Penelope, languishing at a table for two with an unresponsive Ormsby for a vis-a-vis, made sly men- tion of the possible recrudescence of one David Kent at a place called Gas- ton—this merely to note the effect upon an unresponsive table mate. In Penelope’s observings there was no effect perceptible. Ormsby said “Ah?” and asked if she would have more of the salad. But later, in a contempla- tive half-hour with his pipe in the smoking compartmeént, he let the scrap of information sink in and take root. Hitherto Kent had been little more than a name to him—a name he had never heard on Elinor’s lips. But if love be blind in the teens and twenties, it is more than apt to have a keen gift of insight in the thirties and beyond. Hence by the time Ormsby had come to the second filling of his pipe he had pleced together bits of half-forgotten gossip about the Croydon summer, cu- rious little reticences on Elinor’s part, vague hints let fall by Mrs. Brentwood —enough to enable him to chart the rock on which his #ove argosy was drifting, and to nam, {t—David Kent. Now, to a well-kniv man of the world —who happens to be a heaven-born diplomatist into the bargain—to be forewarned is to be doubly armed. At the end of the half-hour of studious solitude in the smoking-room Ormsby had pricked out his course on the chart said Elinor. “And the send him a to a boat’s length; had trimmed his sails to the minutest starting of a sheet. A glance at his watch and an- other at the time table gave him the length of his respite. Six hours there were; and a dining-car dinner inter- vened. Those six hours and the din- ner, he decided, must win or lose the race. Picturing for ourselves, if we may, how nine men out of ten would have given place to panic ardor, turning a possible victory into a hopeless rout, let us hold aloof and mark the general- ship of the tenth, who chances to be the heaven-born. For five of the six precious hours Ormsby merely saw to it that Elinor was judiciously marooned. Then the dining-car was reoperied and the even- ing meal was announced. Wating until a sufficient number of passengers had gone forward to insure a crowded car, Ormsby let his party fall in with the tail of the procession, and the inevit- able happened. Single = seats only could be had, and Elinor was compelled to dine in sclemn silence at a table Ny A FTHIETE AND INHERTOR ¥ THE OoRMSB with three strangers. Dinner over, there remained but twenty minutes of respite; but the diplomatist kept his head, going back to the sleeping-car with his charges and dropping into the seat beside Elinor with the light of calm assurance in his eye. “You are quite comfortable?” he began: “Sha'n’t I have the Presence in the buffet make you a cup of tea? That in the diner didn't deserve the name.” She was regarding him with curious anger in the gray eyes, and her reply quite ignored the kindly offer of re- freshment. “You are the pink of dragomans,” she said. “Don’t you want to go and smoke?"” ““To be entirely consistent, I suppose 1 ought to,” he confessed, wondering if his throw had failed. “Do you want me to go?” “I have been alone all the afternoon: I can endure it a little while longer, I presume.” Ormsby permitted himself a single heart-throb of exultation. He had de- liberately gone about to break down her poise, her only barrier of defense, and it began to look as if he had succeeded. “I couldn’t help it, you know,” he sald, catching his cue swiftly. “There are times when I'm obliged to keep away from you—times when every fiber of me rebels against the restraints of the false position you have thrust me into. When I'm taken that way I don’t dare play with the fire.” “I wish I could know how much you mean by that” she said musingly. Deep down in her heart she knew she was as far as ever from loving this man; but his love, or the insistent urging of it, was like a strong current drifting her whither she would not go. “I mean all that an honest man can mean,” he rejoined. “I have fought like a soldier for standing-room in the place you have assigned me; I have tried sincerely—and stupidly, you will say—to be merely your friend, just the best friend you ever had. But it's no use. Coming or going, I shall always be your lover.” “Please “don’t,” she said, neither coldly nor warmly. “You are getting over into the domain of the very young people when you say things like that.” It was an unpleasant thing to say, and he was not beyond wincing a lit- tle, None the less, he would nét be turned aside. “You'll overlook it in me if I've pressed the thing too hard on the side of sentiment, won’t you? Apart from the fact that I feel that way, I've been going on the supposition that you'd like it, if you could only make up your mind to like me.” t “I do like you,” she admitted; “more than any one I have ever known, I think.” The drumming wheels and a long- Grawn trumpet blast from the locomo- tive made a shield of sound to iso- L i TILL707s. fate them. The elderly banker in the opposite section was nodding over his rewspaper, and the newly married ones “were oblivious, each to all else but the other. Mrs. Brentwood was apparently sleeping peacefully three seats'away and Penelope was invisible. “There was a time when I should have begged hard for something more, Elinor; but now I'm willing to take what I can get, and be thankful. Will you give me the right to make you as happy as I'can on the unemotional basis?"” She feit herself slipping. If you could fully understand " “I understand that you don't love me in the novelist's sense of the word, and I am not asking more than you can give. But if you can give me the little now, and more when I have won it—don’t curl your lip at me, please; T'm trying to put it as mildly as I can.” She -was looking at him level-eyea and he could have sworn that she was never calmer or more self-possessed. “I don’t know why you should want my promise—or any woman’s—on such conditions,” she said evenly. “But I do,” he insisted. The' lights of a town suburb were flitting past the windows and the monotonous song of the tires was drowned in the shrill crescendo of the brakes. She turned from him sudden- ly and laid her cheek against the grateful cool of the window pane. But when he took her hand she did not withdraw it. “Is it mine, Elinor?” he whispered. “You see, I'm not asking much.” “Is it worth taking—by itself?"” “You make me very happy,” he said quietly, and just then ‘the train stopped with a jerk, and a shuffling bustle of station platform noises floated in through the open deck transoms of the car. As if the solution of continuity had been a call to arouse her, Elinor treed her hand with a swift little wrench and sat bolt upright in her corner. “This station—do you know the name of it?” she asked, fighting hard for the self-control that usually came so easily. Ormsby consulted his watch. “I am not quite sure. It ought to be—" He broke 6ff when he saw that she was no longer listening to him. There was a stir in the forward vestibule, and the porter came in with a hand- bag. At his heels was a man in a rough weather boxcoat; a youngish man, clean shaven and wind tanned to a healthy bronze, with an eager face and alert eyes that made an instant inventory of the car and its comple- ment of passengers. So much Orms- by saw. Then Penelope stood up in her place to greet the newcomer. “Why, Mr. Kent!” she exclaimed. “Are you really going on with us? How nice of yo! Elinor turned coolly upon her seat- mate, self-possession once more firmly seated in the saddle. “Did you know Mr. Kent was going to board the train here?” she asked abruptly. + “Do you mean the gentleman Pene- lope has waylaid? I haven’t the pleas- ure of his acquaintance. Will you in- troduce us?” CHAPTER V. Journey’s End- It had been a day of upsettings for David Kent, beginning with the late breakfast at which Neltje, the night watchman at the railway station, had brought him Penelope’s telegram. At 10 he had a case in court: Sho well vs. Western acific Company, damages for stock killing; for the plaintif—Hawk; for the defendant— Kent. With the thought that he was presently going to see Elinor again, Kent went gayly to the battle legal, meaning to wring victory out of a Jury drawn for the most part from the plaintiff’s stock raising neighbors. By dint of great perseverance he man- aged to prolong the fight until the middle of the afternoon, was worsted, as usual, and so far lost his temper as to get himself called down by the Judge, MacFarlane. Whereupon he went back to the Farquhar building and to his office and sat down at the typewriter to pound out a let- ter to the general counsel, resigning his singcure. The Shotwell case was the third he had lost for the com- pany in a single court term. Justice for the railroad company, under pres- ent agrarian conditions, was not to be had in the lower courts, and he was weary of fighting the losing battle. Therefore—— In the midst of the type-rattling the boy that gerved the few occupled of- fices in the Farquhar building had brought the afternoon mail. It In- cluded a letter from Loring, and there was another reversive upheaval for the exile. Loring’s business at the capital was no longer a secret. He had been tendered the resident man- agement of the Western Pacific, with headquarters on the ground, and haa accepted. His letter was a brief note, asking Kent to report at once for legal duty in the larger field. “I am not fairly in the saddle yet, and shall not be fér a week or so,” wrote the newly appointed manager. “But I find I arh going to need a level- headed lawyer at my elbow from the jump—one who knows the State po- litical ropes and™ isn’t afraid of a scrap. Come in on No. Three to-day, if you can; if not, send a wire and say when I may look for you. Or, bet- ter still, wire anyway.” David Kent struggied with his emo- tions until he had got his feet down to the solid earth again. Then he tore up the half written resignation and be- gan to smite things in order for the flight. Could he make No. Three? Since that was the train named In Penelope’s message, nothing short of a catastrophe should prevent his mak- Ing it. He did make it, with an hour to spare; an hour which he proceeded to torn into a time of sharp trial for the patient telegraph operator at the sta- tion, with his badgerings of the man for news of Number Three. The train reported—he took it as a special miracle wrought in his behalf that the Flyer was for this once abreast of her schedule—he fell to tramping up and down the long platform, deep in an- ticipative prefigurings. The mills of the years grind many grists besides the trickling stream of the hours— would he find Miss Brentwood as he had left her? Could he be sure of meeting her on the frank, friendly feoting of the Croydon summer? He feared not; feared all things—Ilover- like. He hoped there would be no ab- sence-reared barrier to be painfully leveled. A man among men, a leader in some sort, and in battle a soldier who could hew his way painstakingly, i not dramaticaly, to his end, David Kent was 19 carpet knight, and he knew his lack. Would Elinor make things easy for him, as she used to deily in the somewhat difficult social atmosphere of the exclusive summer hotel? Measuring it out in all its despairing length and breadth after the fact; he was deeply grateful to Penelope. Miss- ing her ready help at the moment of cataclysms when he entered the sleep- ing-car, he might have betrayed him- self. His first glance lighted on Elinor and Ormsby, and he needed no gloss on the love-text. He had delayed too long; had asked too much of the fates, and Atrooos, the scissors-bearing sis- ter, had snipved his thread of hope. It is ene of the consequences of civili- zation that we are denied the privilege of unmasking at the behest of the ele- mental emotions—that we are con- strained to bleed decorously. Making shift to lean heavily on Penelope, Kent came through without doing or saying anything unseemly. Mrs. Brentwood, who had been sleeping with one eye open, and that eye upon Elinor and Ormsby, made sure that she had now no special reason to be w to David Kent. For the others, Ormsby was good-naturedly suave, Elinor was by turns unwontedly kind and curious- ly silent and Penelope—but, as we say, it was to Penelove that Kent owed most. So it came about that the outcome of the cataclysm was a thing which hap- pens. often enough in a conventional- ized world. David Kent, with his trag- edy fresh upon him, dropped informally into place as one of the party of five; and of all the others Penelope alone suspected how hard he was hit. And when all was sald, when the new modug vivendi had been fairly estab- lished and the hour grew late, Kent went voluntarily. with Ormsby to the smoking comj t, “to play the string out decently,” as he afterward confessed to Loring. “I see you know how to get the mest comfort out of your tobacco,” said the clubman when they were companion- ably settled in the men's room and Kent produced his pipe and tobacco pouch. “I prefer the pipe myself, for a steady thing: but at this time of night a light Castilla fits me pretty well. Try one?” tendering his cigar case. Fighting shrewdly against a natural prompting to regard Ormsby as & hereditary enemy, Kent forced himseilf to be neighborly. “I don’t mind,” he said, returning the pipe to its case. And when the Hava- nas were well alight and the talk had circled down upon the political situa- tion in the State he was able to bear his part with a fair exterior, giving Ormsby an impressionistic outline of the late campaign and the conditions that had made the sweeping triumph of the People’s party possible. “We have been coming to it steadily through the last administration, and & part of the preceding one,” he ex- plained. “Last year the drought cut the cereals in half, and the country was too new to stand it without borrowing. There was little local capl- tal, and the Eastern article was hun- gry, taking all the interest the law allows. and as much more as it could get. This year the crop broke all rec- ords for abundance, but the price is down and the railroads, trying to re- coup for two bad years, have stiffened the freight rates. The net result is our political overturn.” “Then the railroads and the corpora- tions are not primarily to blame?” said Ormsby. “Oh, no. Corporations here, as else- where, are looking out for the present dollar, but if the country were gener- ally prosperous the people would pay the tax carelessly, as they do in the older sections. With us it has been a sort of Donnybrook fair—the agricul- tural voter has shillalahed the head he could reach most easily.” The New Yorker nodded. His mil- lons were solidly placed, and he took no more than a sportsman’s interest in the fluctuations of the stock market. “Of course, there have been all sorts of rumors East—'bull’ prophecies that the umph of the new party means en era of unexampled prosperity for the State—and by consequence for Western stocks; ‘bear’ growlings that things are sure to go to the bow-wows under the Bucks regime. What do you think of it?” Kent Dbl a series of smoke rings and watched them rise to become a part of the stratified tobacco cloud overhead before replying. “I may as well confess that I am not entirely an unprejudiced observer,” he admitted. “For one thing, [ am In the legal department of one of the best- hated of the railroads; and for another, Governor Bucks, Meigs, the Attorney General, and Hendricks, the new Sec- retary of State, are men whom I know as, it is safe to say, the general publio doesn’t know them. If I could be sure that these three men are going to be able to control their own party major- ity in the Assembly I should take the first train East and make my fortune selling tips in Wall street.” “You put it graphically. Them the Buckssidea is likely to prove a disturb- ing element on 'Change?” “It is—always providing it can dom- inate its own majority. But this is by no means certain. The political earth- quake is essentially a popular protest against hard conditions brought about, as the voters seem to belleve, by the oppress of the alien corporations and extortionate railroad rates. Yet there are plenty of steady-going, con- servative men in the movement—men who have no present idea of revolu- tionizing things. Marston, the Lieuten- ant Governor, is one of that kind. It all depends on whether thess men will allow themselves to be whipped into line by the leaders, who, I am very well convinced, are a set of consclence- less demagogues, fighting solely for their own hand.” Ormsby nodded again. “You are likely to have good hunting this winter, Mr. Kent. It hasn’t begun vet, 1 take it? “Oh, no; the Assembly does not con- vene for a fortnight, and nobedy short of an inspired prophet can foretell what legislation will be sprung. But one thing is safe to count om; the leaders are out for spoils. They mean to rob somebody, and, if my guess is worth anything, they are sharp enough to try to get their schemes legalized by having enabling laws passed by the Assembly.” “Um,’"said the eastern man. Then he took the measure of his companion in a shrewd overlook. “You are the man on the ground, Mr. Kent, and I'll ask a straightforward question. If you had a friend owning stock in one of the involved railways, what would you advise?” Kent smiled. “We needn’t make it a hypothetical case. If I had the right to advise Mrs. Brentwood and her daughters, I should counsel them to -it tight in the boat for the present.” “Would you? But Western Pacifie has gone off several points already.” “I know it has; and unfortunately, Mrs. Brentwoed bought in at the top of the market. That is why I counsel delay. If she sells now, she is sure to lose. If she holds on, there is an even chance for a spasmodic upward reaction before worse things happen.” “Perhaps: you know meore about the probabilities than I pretend to. But on the other hand, she may lose meore if she holds on.” Kent bit deep into his cigar. “We must see to it that she doesn’'t lose, Mr. Ormsby."” The clubman laughed broadly. “Isn’t that a good bit like saying that the shallop must see to it that the wind doesn’t blow too hard for 1£2" “Possibly. But in the sorriest wreck there is usually some small chance for salvage. I understand Mrs. Brent- wood’s holding is not very large?” “A block of some three thousand shares, held jointly by her and her two daughters, 1 believe.” “Exactly: not enough'to excite gny- body’s cupidity; and yet enough to turn the scale if there should ever be a fight for a majority control.” “There is no such fight in prospect, is there?” “No; not that T know of. But I was thinking of the possibilities. If a smash comes there will be a good d of horse-swapping in the middle of the stream—buying up of depressed stocks by people who need the lines worse than the original owners do.” “I see,” said Ormsby. “Then you would council delay?” “I should; and I'll go a step farther. 1 am on the inside, in a way, and any hint I can give you for Miss—for Mrs. Brentwood’s benefit shall be promptly forthcoming.™ “By Jove! that's decent,” said Orms- by, heartily. “You are a friend worth having, Mr. Kent. But which ‘Inside’ do you mean—the railroad or the “Oh, the railroad, of course. And while T think of it, my office will be in the Quintard Building; and you—I sup- pose you will put up at the Welling- ton?” “For the present, we shall. It is Mrs. Brentwood's notion to take a furnished house later on for herself and daugh- ters, if she can find one. I'll keep in touch with you.” “Do. It may come to a bit of quick wiring when our chance arrives. You know Loring—Grantham Loring?™” “Passably well. I came across him one summer in the mountains of Peru, where he was managing a railroad. He is a mighty good sort. I had mountain fever, and he took me In and did for me “He is with us now.,” said David Kent; “the newly appointed general manager of the Western Pacifie.” Good!" seid the clubman. “T think a lot ¢f him: he is an all-around de- pendable fellow, and plenty capable.