Isaac Worthington was silent for a while: he was striving to calm himself, for an indefinable something had shaken him. The strange stillness of the hour and the stranger atmosphere which seemed to surround this transaction filled him with a nameless dread. The man in the window had been his lifelong enemy: more than this, Jethro Bass, was not like ordinary men--his ways were enshrouded in mystery, and when he struck, he struck hard. There grew upon Isaac Worthington a sense that this midnight hour was in some way to be the culmination of the long years of hatred between them. He believed Jethro: he would have believed him even if Mr. Flint had not informed him that afternoon that he was beaten, and bitterly he wished he had taken Mr. Flint's advice many months before. Denunciation sprang to his lips which he dared not utter. He was beaten, and he must pay--the pound of flesh. Isaac Worthington almost thought it would be a pound of flesh. "How much do you want?" he said. Again Jethro looked at him. "B-biggest price you can pay," he answered. "You must have made up your mind what you want. You've had time enough." "H-have made up my mind," said Jethro. "Make your demand," said Mr. Worthington, "and I'll give you my answer." "B-biggest price you can pay," said Jethro, again. Mr. Worthington's nerves could stand it no longer. "Look here," he cried, rising in his chair, "if you've brought me here to trifle with me, you've made a mistake. It's your business to get control of things that belong to other people, and sell them out. I am here to buy. Nothing but necessity brings me here, and nothing but necessity will keep me here a moment longer than I have to stay to finish this abominable affair. I am ready to pay you twenty thousand dollars the day that bill becomes a law." This time Jethro did not look at him. "P-pay me now," he said. "I will pay you the day the bill becomes a law. Then I shall know where I stand." Jethro did not answer this ultimatum in any manner, but remained perfectly still looking out of the window. Mr. Worthington glanced at him, twice, and got his fingers on the brim of his hat, but he did not pick it up. He stood so for a while, knowing full well that if he went out of that room his chance was gone. Consolidation might come in other years, but he, Isaac Worthington, would not be a factor in it. "You don't want a check, do you?" he said at last. "No--d-don't want a check." "What in God's name do you want? I haven't got twenty thousand dollars in currency in my pocket." "Sit down, Isaac Worthington," said Jethro. Mr. Worthington sat down--out of sheer astonishment, perhaps. "W-want the consolidation--don't you? Want it bad--don't you?" Mr. Worthington did, not answer. Jethro stood over him now, looking down at him from the other side of the narrow table. "Know Cynthy Wetherell?" he said.