Mr. Mix started, and his memory began to unfold. It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out: "And lose your shot at the estate?" but he restrained himself. He wasn't supposed to know the circumstances, and as a matter of fact, as he realized with a thrill of relish, he was probably the only outsider who _did_ know the circumstances. "Why," said Mr. Mix. "Do you own the Orpheum? Well, I should say offhand it's worth a good deal. Twenty thousand. The land, you know: the building's no good." Henry nodded impatiently. "Yes, but who'd buy it?" "Well, now, about _that_--of course, I'm not a real estate man--but you could certainly _trade_ it." "What for?" Mr. Mix caught the note of sincerity in Henry's voice, and Mr. Mix thought rapidly. He appeared to deliberate, to waver, to burn his bridges. "Well--say for a third interest in Theodore Mix and Company." Henry stared. "Are you serious?" Mr. Mix almost fell over backwards. "Why, yes. It's sudden, but ... why, yes. I could use more capital, and I want a crack salesman. I'll trade--if you're quick on the trigger. I've got two or three people interested so far, but when it's _you_--" Henry took him by the arm. "Come on over to the Citizens Club, then, and we'll talk about it." CHAPTER V When Henry went home to his wife and his father-in-law, he was confident that he had a very fine bargain; when he told them what he had heard from his aunt and Mr. Archer, what he had seen with his own eyes, and what he had done with Mr. Mix, he expected first, sympathy, and afterwards, unqualified approval. Within the next five minutes, however, Henry was sitting limp and baffled; and wishing that he had Bob Standish to support him. Bob, at least, would understand. "Holy Smoke!" he said, weakly. "_I_ didn't suppose you'd take it like that! Why, I--I feel as if I'd been run over by a steam-roller with Taft at the wheel!" Judge Barklay had long since forgiven his daughter, but he hadn't quite forgiven Henry. "Do you want my honest opinion? I should say you're suffering from two extreme causes--exaggerated ego and cold feet." Henry flushed. He had the most profound respect for Judge Barklay--a man who had preferred to be a city magistrate, and to be known throughout the whole state for his wisdom and humanity, instead of keeping up his law practice, at five times the income--and Henry, like every one else, valued the Judge's opinions. "You don't mean you think I'd _run_ the miserable little peanut-stand, do you? And keep books on it as if it had been the Federal Reserve Bank?" "It strikes me," said the Judge, "that both of us would rather have you run a peanut-stand than--I'm using your own analogy--than spend your whole life eating peanuts. Why, Henry, your uncle _wanted_ you to be shocked--wanted you to be mad enough to stand up on your hind legs and fight."