"What is this you say, Otto? Impossible, impossible!" he said, sitting down upon the log by the side of his friend, who seemed bereft of all strength. "Go on, anyhow, that I may judge what it comes to. I am quite convinced--beforehand that it comes to nothing at all. But speak, for goodness sake, speak!" Otto nodded assent, and murmured-- "Yes, yes, I will speak. Come to nothing, forsooth! I have seen it coming--for a long time past--for the last four years at least--ever since I started, in addition to all the other things, that confounded sugar refinery. We made it a Company; but I hold all the shares myself now--I could not bear to ruin the poor beggars who, trusting in me, had taken up the rest. This has cost me untold money; and the whole thing was a failure, and the building is ready to be pulled down again--would already have been pulled down if that, again, did not require money. Besides, a thousand acres of my best soil planted with beetroot--food for the pigs now. And yonder is that porcelain factory, year by year a balance on the wrong side; and then the mines--yes, yes, formerly, but not now ..." There had been one long series of enterprises, each of which had turned out more unsatisfactory, and, in the long run, more ruinous than the other; and with increasing swiftness they had swallowed up ever bigger sums, and had now at length given at least a most severe shock to a very considerable fortune. This much Bertram gathered clearly from the statements of his friend, although he only understood a small part of the technical and mercantile details. "But how on earth," he exclaimed, "could a quiet, sensible man like yourself ever dream of venturing on this 'inclined plane'? How could you graft one reckless, foolhardy speculation upon another; neglect, ruin those splendid estates, the legacy of your fathers; stake your peace of mind, your happiness? And if it had been a question of yourself only! But your child--your wife ..." He paused abruptly. "Poor chap!" he murmured. "I think I understand after all--poor, good chap!" He was pressing Otto's hand warmly. Their eyes met. His unhappy friend was smiling, and a most melancholy smile it was.