"That's all right, Kirkwood, but how about that swindling construction company the Holtons worked as a side line? The bad service the company has given from the start pretty nearly proves that there was crooked work there. How do you get around that?" "You'll have to believe what I say, that we will handle it all to the satisfaction of the public. But smashing a bank won't help any. We're trying to manage in such way that no innocent party will suffer." "Well, there's nothing innocent about these Holtons. Sam died and got out of it, but Will and this young Charlie are off the same block. And now Jack's come back to make trouble for them. I don't see myself jumping in to protect these fellows; if they've got themselves in a hole, let them wiggle out." "You're not talking like a reasonable human being, Barker. Try to overcome personal prejudices. Just remember that several hundred people--our friends and neighbors--are going to be hurt if the bank fails. I've just headed off Waterman. He was about to bring suit for a receiver on behalf of one of the local bondholders on the ground of mismanagement. That would be a mistake. It's in our plans to bring up the road's efficiency at once. The trustee is in a position to do that. I want you to help me quiet these disturbing rumors. If I didn't believe it would all come out right, I'd tell you so very frankly." Barker shrugged his shoulders and walked to his desk. He read Phil's introduction and the accompanying statement with Kirkwood's name attached. "All right, Tom. But remember that this is personal to you; I wouldn't do it for any other man on earth." "You're doing it for the town, Barker. We're all friends and neighbors here; and I give you my word that you won't regret it. I've got to run, Phil. Sorry; but I'll be back in a day or two. How are Nan and Rose?" "Fine." "Nan staying with you?" "No; I've moved over there for a few days." "That's all right. Give them my compliments." The door closed on him as Barker came back from the composing-room, where he had carried the Sycamore article and ordered it double-leaded. Phil, gathering up her belongings, lingered for a word. Barker ripped the wrapper from an exchange absently. "Phil, you've never suspected your father of being a little touched in his upper story, have you?" "That short-circuited; say it some other way," observed Phil, buttoning her glove. "That dad of yours, Phil, if he ain't plumb crazy, is the whitest white man that ever trod the footstool. I always suspected him of being tolerably highminded, but I guess if ever a man climbed on top of his soul and knew that he was the boss of it with the help of Almighty God, that man is Tom Kirkwood. It's got me fuddled, Phil. It's addled me like the report of a tariff commission or an argument for government ownership of laying hens; but I respect it, and I admire it. Be good to your daddy. So far as I know he hasn't any competition in his class."