"I had some in my sock, and I borrowed the rest--from a friend. Now, get it tied up and I'll go sit over the telephone. I'll have a taxi here. You cool off and we'll make the rounds together." Jimmy departed hastily, leaving Armstrong staring at the pile of bills. Jimmy Wren the impulsive, the warm-hearted, the devoted! At one minute of twelve, Armstrong reached the auction rooms in Vesey Street. When he entered, the Food Products notes were being offered for sale. Armstrong handed over ten thousand in cash for them. How he had collected that money, he scarcely knew; he knew, however, that he had in his thoughts wronged his friends. That two-million-dollar suit had rung like a bugle-blast across the pages of the morning papers, yet his friends had rallied. He had seen man after man, stating his case briefly, setting his simple word against all the thunderous allegations of the enemy--and he had won. The moment his victory was assured, he came near going to pieces. For two hours he had been under a tremendous strain, pouring forth every atom of his energy and will-power; now he was shaken, broken by the effort, exhausted. He knew that Findlater was somewhere here, and Macgowan, but he ignored them. He got away as quickly as possible, in the taxicab that Jimmy had hired. Of what took place during the remainder of that day, he was scarcely conscious. The blow had been warded, however. And, in the afternoon, he had Mansfield's grim assurance that the suit would never come into court, that the attachment was released. As though that victory turned the tide of affairs, the succeeding days witnessed a steady ebb in the fortunes of Findlater and Macgowan, a corresponding flood in the prospects of the Protective Association. Mansfield was hammering away energetically. He obtained an injunction which cut short Findlater's campaign with the money and property of Consolidated; this forced the enemy to spend actual money of his own, and was a shrewd blow. The annual meeting of the stockholders of Consolidated was called, and the place named was Wilmington. Upon this fact Sessions seized with avidity. He flooded the mails with letters, pointing out that Findlater was afraid to hold the meeting under the jurisdiction of South Dakota courts, pointing out that Wilmington was not readily accessible to many of the investors, driving home new charges of trickery and fraud. Now the fight was becoming serious for Macgowan, and the latter knew it. Thousands of the investors were registered with the Association, proxies were pouring in, and the denials and camouflage used by the Consolidated directors availed little. Findlater was himself carrying on a desperate battle for proxies, under the guidance of Macgowan, and neglected nothing in the effort to avert disaster. Armstrong wondered how the two of them would get out from under the swelling tide of libel and perjury which they were creating.