I know it’s a bold trick, but that’s in its favor. It’s too bold to be expected or understood. It’s no time to think of gratitude. We’ve got to act. Give me the combination." They got up, and Bodney stood trembling. He seemed to be struggling to break loose from something that held him in its grasp. Goyle gazed into his eyes. Bodney put up his hand as if to shield them from a dazzling light. "Give me the combination." Bodney tore loose from the something that seemed to be gripping him, and started on a run toward the door. Goyle caught him, put his hand on him, held him. "I hear them coming. Give me that piece of paper." Bodney gave him a slip of paper. Goyle took up the valise. "Come on," he said, and Bodney followed him out through the door leading into the passage. *CHAPTER II.* *THE FAMILY JOKE.* The Judge, his brother William and the Rev. Mr. Bradley entered the office. "Yes, sir," said the Judge, "I’m delighted that you have been called to Chicago. We are full of enterprise here, religious as well as secular. Sit down. And we push religious matters, Mr. Bradley. Here everything takes up the vigorous character of the town. You know that one of our poets has said that when the time comes we’ll make culture hum." Bradley sat down, smiling. "William," said the Judge, still standing, "can’t you find a chair?" "Oh, I believe so," William replied, sitting down. "But why do you make everybody sit down and then stand up yourself? Mr. Bradley, my brother John is a browbeater. He forgets that he ain’t always on the bench." The Judge winked at Bradley, and laughed. He was full of good humor, sniffing about on the scent of a prank, and when all other resources failed, he had the reserve fund of his brother, the family joke, the humorous necessity. "You remember," said Bradley, "I told you, some time ago, that it was my ambition to have a charge here." The Judge, standing in front of him, began to make convincing motions with his finger, laying down the law, as William termed it. "It’s the field, Bradley. You can raise more money in a church here than—" "Oh, it is not that, Judge," the preacher broke in. "Chicago presents a fertile opportunity for doing good, for making men better, life more worth living, and—" "Death more certain," William suggested. "My brother doesn’t like it here," said the Judge. Bradley turned his mild eyes upon the brother and in the form of a question, said, "No?" William cleared his husky throat. "I have lived further West, where a fellow may make you get out of a stage-coach at the muzzle of a pistol, but he won’t sneak up and slip his hand into your pocket." "My brother took a whirl at the board of trade," said the Judge. He sat down, lighted a cigar, and offered one to Bradley. "Won’t you smoke?" "Not now," Bradley answered. "I am trying to break myself."