Again the curious look came into Forrester’s eyes. Kenyon noticed it, and for a moment feared that he had blundered. He had come to the conclusion, finally, that to get at the true inwardness of the matter in hand he must float with the current, that he must assume to be what they supposed him to be--and so he did not desire to excite the other’s suspicions. But the youth’s next words reassured him. “There is truth in what you say,” said Forrester, slowly. “Somehow you keep showing me that, right along; and,” with a quick heave of his great shoulders, “I don’t mind saying that I sometimes find it aggravating.” “Personal feelings should never tinge matters of business. That’s a useful rule.” “I realize its value. But, then, human nature is human nature. A man is bound to grouch more or less when he finds himself displaced. However, you’ve done more in twenty-four hours than all the rest of us combined.” “Thanks. You are very good.” “I must say that I don’t quite understand it all; but the results are what counts and are what I want to see. Farbush is quite carried away by your success; but your, as he calls it, boldness, has about taken his breath. He would prefer less spectacular effects. You see, these old money-squeezing fellows are like moles; they get their victories by digging underground; and to do things as openly as you have done, frightens them.” “He’ll have to steady his nerves. There is no telling what sort of moves are on their way, you know.” “You can’t frighten me,” replied Forrester. “As the matter stands it can’t progress too rapidly to please me. I’m in a hurry to get it over.” They had stopped upon the corner of Canal Street; it was late and a haze clung about the roof tops. From the North River came the constant shriek of fog-whistles and now and then the boom of a bell; the numerous night sounds from the river front came faintly to them, for already the farm wagons were coming in, and the great markets on the lower west side were beginning to make ready for the coming dawn. Kenyon was silent. He cautiously determined to follow the other’s lead. But Forrester did not hesitate; he went steadily on. “We waited for you at the ‘Far East,’” continued he. “The Stalker reported that he had given you Farbush’s instructions.” “The Stalker?” Kenyon looked at the other inquiringly. “Of course. Didn’t he meet you as you left Selden’s Square last night?” Kenyon’s mind went quickly back to the night before, and immediately the stealthy figure that had arisen out of the shadows recurred to him. “Ah, yes, I remember. But his words did not impress themselves upon my memory, for he sort of mumbled them over quickly and vanished. He seemed to be rather in a hurry.” Kenyon paused a moment and then added: “Was there any urgent reason for his haste, I wonder.” Forrester made a gesture that showed distaste. “Perhaps there was,” said he shortly. “He formed, I think, a committee of one, to receive the man from Butte.”