The older man smiled. "Isn't it magnanimous in me to be glad she's wearing your violets instead of mine, eating your chocolates instead of mine, reading your magazines instead--" "Stop!" said Whitcomb, raising his hand imperatively. "It's sacrilege to joke about her." "You're a nice chap, Freddy," declared King slowly. The visitor rose. "Don't you dare to patronize me," he said. "Thanks to your cursed bank I'm a _poor_ chap. I'd begun to hope--to hope--What do you care what I hoped? You're as cold-blooded as that irrigation swindle that's fooled us all." A little slow color crept over Bertram King's lantern jaws. "Sit down," he said briefly. "I brought you up here to talk about that. You didn't attend the meeting of the stockholders last night." "No. I was doing errands for Miss Barry; and I didn't care to sit there and listen to empty platitudes." King hesitated a moment, but he put constraint upon himself. Freddy was desperately in love, and had had a desperate disappointment. "I don't blame you for feeling sore," he said at last, "but I believe I have good news for you. The irrigation proposition would have gone through all right if the panic in that region hadn't suddenly knocked the bottom out for the time being. It's a legitimate thing, and we were able to show the stockholders last night that if they would be patient and give us time, we would issue notes and the bank depositors would be paid." "What?" asked Whitcomb incredulously, and again sat down. King nodded. "The bank closed, but it didn't fail, and if Barry & Co.'s people will trust us, I firmly believe everybody is going to have his own--say in a year or two." "Two!" echoed Whitcomb, the hopeful light fading somewhat. "Of course. Money in the bank, boy." King rose and advanced to him and slapped him on the shoulder. "You don't need it to live on." "No, I need it to get Linda," returned the other bluntly. Bertram smiled wanly, and balanced back and forth on his heels and toes. His visitor regarded him curiously. "I'll bet you've done some tall working on this," he said slowly. "No fish ever worked harder," admitted Bertram. "But when you knew it was your own fault--" suggested Whitcomb. King's quizzical eyes regarded the speaker. "That conviction does always make a fellow rather hump himself, Freddy." The caller rose. He didn't like the look in his host's face. All this heart-breaking business should be treated seriously. King looked worn, but he didn't look humble; and as Mr. Barry's factotum he had been frightfully neglectful of Linda this morning. No, Whitcomb didn't feel like shaking hands with him, even after King had lighted for him a beacon of hope. The caller suddenly assumed an abrupt, businesslike manner.