“I hate him!” muttered Mr. Vyce, following the boy’s retreating figure with a dark scowl. “He’s a thorn in my path. He’s altogether too thick with Whitemore. I can’t understand what the old man sees in him. For the last three months I’ve noticed that my hold here is slipping away, and just when I need it the most. Just when things were coming my way, too. Now, with a fortune in sight, this boy is crowding me to the wall. Curse him! I can’t understand what it means. Is it possible Whitemore suspects me? Pshaw! Am I not an old and trusted employee? I’ve always been in his confidence to a large extent, but of late he has been keeping things from me--matters I ought to know--especially in reference to this deal he has on. Those corn options are on the point of expiring, and I expected ere this to have been sent West to settle with the elevator people and get the receipts, for corn is on the rise and the old man is ahead at this stage of the game. I strongly suspect he means to corner the market this time. He’s got the dust to attempt it with, and already he holds options on nearly half of the visible supply in Kansas and Nebraska, besides what he has stored here. There is no telling what he has been doing during the last thirty days, as not a word about corn has passed between us during that time. It’s not like Whitemore to act this way with me. Something is up, and by George! I’ll find out what it is.” Mr. Vyce drove his pen savagely into a little glass receptacle filled with small shot and turned to the window again, after glancing at the clock. Bessie Brown came out of the inner office with her notebook in her hand and sat down at her machine to transcribe her notes. In a few moments Mr. Vyce came over to her desk and, taking up his station where he could catch a glance of what she was writing, remarked: “Are you working overtime to-night, Miss Brown?” “Excuse me, Mr. Vyce,” she said, covering the paper with her hands, “this is strictly confidential.” “I beg your pardon,” he said, between his teeth, altering his position. “But you haven’t answered my question.” “I expect to be busy until six,” she replied, without looking at him. “I have tickets for McVickar’s,” he continued. “Would you honor me with your company there this evening? It is not necessary that you return home to dress. We can dine at Palmer’s.” “You must excuse me,” she replied, with a heightened color, “but I never go anywhere without my mother’s knowledge and permission.” “But you went to the Auditorium two weeks ago with Thornton,” he said, in a tone of chagrin. “Mr. Thornton asked mamma if I could go, and she consented.” “You never invited me to call at your home, so I could become acquainted with your mother,” persisted Mr. Vyce, who was evidently jealous of the intimacy which existed between Vance and the young lady. Bessie said nothing to this, but applied herself more attentively to her work.