“What are you afraid of, Bill? I know it isn’t yourself. _What_ is it?” Desbrough looked steadily at his friend. “You know what the T. & M. is--_who_ it really is?” “Anybody especial?” “It’s controlled by--your father-in-law.” This was by no means the first time that George Helm had been faced with the difficulties necessarily involved in his having married the daughter of one of the leading politico-business traffickers of the Middle West. But theretofore each difficulty had come in some form that enabled him to keep on his course without wounding his wife’s sensibilities, and with no other ill effect than deepening his father-in-law’s secret hatred and detestation. But now the long-dreaded crisis seemed to have come. “We’ve warned that company several times,” said he, reflecting. “Five formal warnings,” said Desbrough. “I’ve just given them a sixth. That’s why I’m delaying.” “Six. That’s too many. We’ve been more than fair.” “George, if I go ahead--I send two of your wife’s own cousins to the pen--and disgrace her father--drive him out of public life.” A long silence. Then Helm said quietly: “Do you think they’ll pay attention to the warning?” “No,” replied Desbrough. He watched the lines growing slowly taut in George Helm’s rugged face, and hastily added, “Now, see here, old man--for God’s sake _don’t_ do another unpractical thing--the worst yet. The others only wrecked you politically. This’ll wreck your home.” In the same tranquil way Helm said: “Have I ever done a single unpractical thing? You know I haven’t. You know--or ought to--that Sayler-- There’s a politician!--he put up the whole game on me. He fixed it so that I’d be forced either to do dirty work or to offend one after another every power in this state and so kill myself politically.” Desbrough suddenly saw the whole plot--simple, devilish, inevitably successful. And all his love for Helm was concentrated in the deep, passionate fury of his exclamation--“The dirty devil!” “No use calling names,” rejoined Helm placidly. “He plays his game; we play ours. And anyhow, he has lost.” “Lost?” echoed Desbrough. “How do you make that out? I think he’s won. Hasn’t he done you up for a second term?” “Even so, still he has lost,” Helm answered. “His main object was to make us do dirty work. And we haven’t--not yet.” Desbrough’s eyes shifted. After a pause he said with some constraint: “You want me to wait till these people have a chance to act on my last warning?” Helm said: “I’ll give you an answer to-morrow. You’re all ready to go ahead?” “Yes.” “Then--I’ll see you to-morrow.” And Desbrough did not envy him the rest of that day and the night. * * * * *