“We’ll meet you half-way, Mr. Vallory, and in good faith,” he said. “I am told you have a lawyer friend here in the house; our attorneys will meet him and draw up new contracts. We shall ask only for decent economy and fairness; and if you can do as you promise--get the line open before snow flies--there will be a substantial bonus for you, individually; which may enable you to make your interest in the Grillage Engineering Company a financial as well as a--er--sentimental one. I think that is all we need to say this morning.” David Vallory passed through the corridor to the Grillage suite with the blood hammering in his veins. In the hour-long conference with the railroad magnates he had kept his word to Virginia, fighting openly and honestly, and battling his way through to the desired end. The battle had not been won without stress. At first, there had been only silence and cold attention on the part of the magnates. But the triumphant fact remained: he had warmed them finally and the victory was won. But now the real crisis was at hand. Would Eben Grillage, the benefactor to whom he owed his fealty in the final analysis, turn the helm over to a moneyless youngster who was masterfully proposing to marry his daughter out of hand, and to throw all of the Grillage business methods and maxims into the scrap-heap? Virginia met him at the door of the private suite, and her eyes were full of trouble. “You must be prepared for a great change, David,” she told him. “It is paralysis, and he will never be the same man again. You must help me, dear; in a way, you know, I was the cause of it.” “We’ll carry the load--together,” he assured her gently, and then she led him to the bedside of the stricken giant. Her word of warning did not come amiss. For a moment David was shocked silent, and he could scarcely realize that the big figure propped among the pillows was that of the man who had stood as the very image of strength and aggressive vigor at their last meeting on the morning of the departure for the fishing excursion. The beetle-browed eyes were undimmed, to be sure, but the heavy face hung in folds, and its color was that of age-old parchment. Yet the indomitable spirit was unbroken. “Come to look over the wreck, have you, David?” he said, with the grim Grillage smile strangely distorted by his malady. “Makes me think of that advertisement of the insurance people: ‘A house may burn, but a man _must_ die.’ I’m not dead yet, though.” “Of course you’re not,” said David cheerfully. “You’re not going to be allowed to die before I’ve paid you some of the big debt I owe you.” Again the grim smile flitted across the flabby expanse of the wrecked face. “Vinnie tells me you’re aiming to make the debt bigger before you make it less. Do you realize that you’re taking all I’ve got in the world worth having, David? But of course you don’t; you young robbers never do. Have you seen President Ford?”