The man’s hands swung out blindly. Then they fell to his sides. He was panting a little, as if he had come a long distance. But his eyes were fixed on John’s face with a little sneer. “Think you ’re clever, don’t you!” he said doggedly. “I wish I were,” said John, “though it does n’t seem to have done you much good,” he added after a moment. The man’s fingers were fumbling at the desk, striving to gather up and destroy the papers jotted with figures. “Let those alone!” said John. The fingers ceased their work, but they still moved restlessly, playing on the air. The sudden fright had done its work.... Quietly, bit by bit, John laid the plan before him. “But I tell you I don’t _dare_ do it,” said the man. His voice was a kind of shrill moan. “Do you dare _not_ to?” asked the young man. There was silence in the room. “All right.” It was crafty, with a sullen note just below the surface. “You give me the figures and I ’ll copy ’em and send ’em.” “_I_ will send them,” said John slowly, “and so long as you play fair, no one else knows it. But if you betray us by one breath--I give the matter over to President Tetlow--” The man had started. “No,--You won’t do that--No!” He was almost cowering before him. John smiled a little, looking down at him. So it was still a name to conjure with! His mind wandered inconsequently to the bag of eggs on the high shelf and the egg-beater hanging on its nail behind the cupboard door. The man little knew that they were President Tetlow. He was still a terror to evil doers. “One breath--and I tell him!” said John sternly. The man shrank a little. “I ’ll do it,” he said. He, himself, could not have accounted for the fear that held him. He knew that the president of the “R. and Q.” road was a broken man; he had sworn it to the manager of the C. B. and L.; but none the less he was afraid. A phrase that he had heard long since, stirred in his mind--“You don’t cross Sim Tetlow and live!” He wanted to live--the assistant bookkeeper--he desired earnestly to live--and to prosper. He had done his best for years--Yet it seemed always to evade him. “I ’ll do it all right for you--I ’ll act on the square,” he said magnanimously. “Oh, no--You ’ll do what you have to,” said John. A sudden hatred of this young man flared in the assistant bookkeeper’s heart. Then he remembered the look in Nixon’s face--manager of the C. B. and L.--the day he had seen him last. It struck him that the two looks were curiously alike. “I hate Nixon!” he said viciously, “I ’ll be glad to get one on him.” “Does n’t he pay you well?” asked John. The man writhed a little. “That’s my affair,” he said. “All right. Keep it your affair,” said John. “He ’ll pay you--same as ever--and you ’re to take it.” The man stared at him. His jaw had dropped a little. He moved toward the door. “You ’re a deep un. I don’t want anything to do with you.... I can’t face Nixon--every month, I tell you. He’d kill me!”