“Compromise nothing, I’m going to pay a formal social call on Mrs. Harley, and respectfully hope that she has suffered no ill effects from her exposure to the cold.” Eaton made no comment, unless to whistle gently were one. “You think it isn’t wise?” “Well, is it?” asked Steve. “I think so. We’ll scotch the lying tongue of rumor by a strict observance of the conventions. Madam Grundy is padlocked when we reduce the situation to the absurdity of the common place.” “Perhaps you are right, if it doesn’t become too common commonplace.” “I think we may trust Simon Harley to see to that,” answered his chief with a grim smile “Obviously our social relations aren’t likely to be very intimate. Now it’s ‘Just before the battle mother,’ but once the big guns begin to boor we’ll neither of us be in the mood for functions social.” “You’ve established a sort of claim on him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he would meet you halfway in settling the trouble between you,” said Eaton thoughtfully. “I expect he would,” agreed Ridgway indifferently as he lit a cigar. “Well, then?” “The trouble is that I won’t meet him halfway. I can’t afford to be reasonable, Steve. Just suppose for an instant that I had been reasonable five years ago when this fight began. They would have bought me out for a miserable pittance of a hundred and fifty thousand or so. That would have been a reasonable figure then. You might put it now at five or six millions, and that would be about right. I don’t want their money. I want power, and I’d rather fight for it than not. Besides, I mean to make what I have already wrung from them a lever for getting more. I’m going to show Harley that he has met a man at last he can’t either freeze out or bully out. I’m going to let him and his bunch know I’m on earth and here to stay; that I can beat them at their own game to a finish.” “Did it ever occur to you, Waring, that it might pay to make this a limited round contest? You’ve won on points up to date by a mile, but in a finish fight endurance counts. Money is the same as endurance here, and that’s where they are long.” Eaton made this suggestion diffidently, for though he was a stockholder and official of the Mesa Ore-producing Company, he was not used to offering its head unasked advice. The latter, however, took it without a trace of resentment. “Glad of it, my boy. There’s no credit in beating a cripple.” To this jaunty retort Eaton had found no answer when Smythe opened the door to announce the arrival of the Honorable Thomas B. Pelton, very anxious for an immediate interview with Mr. Ridgway. “Show him in,” nodded the president, adding in an aside: “You better stay, Steve.”