John Bagsbury was excited, but he had done all that he could do, and he was going forward into the critical week with the same elation that some soldiers feel on the eve of battle. He insisted that Jack stay to tea, and afterward he talked for two solid hours, so that Alice fairly forgot to be sleepy, and Dick and Jack Dorlin laughed and then wondered, feeling that never before had they seen John Bagsbury fully awake. “Can you allow me a holiday to-morrow?” asked Jack, as he rose to go. “I have some personal business that I feel I must attend to.” Dick followed him into the hall, and, standing before the door, barred the way out. “What is it you’re going to do to-morrow?” she demanded. “Just a little matter of business--” “It isn’t curiosity. I really want to know.” “Why, it’s nothing--” stammered Jack--“that is--well--I can’t tell you.” She turned abruptly away from him and then he heard a low chuckle. “I know, I know,” she said triumphantly. “If it had been anything else, you would have told me, and then how cheap you’d have made me feel! But I knew it was that. I want to be in it, too. Come around here to-morrow morning before you do anything.” After he had gone, as she turned from the door, she met John Bagsbury coming into the hall. “I’m going up to bed,” he said. “I’ve got some big days coming, and to-morrow’ll be one of them. Wish me luck, Dick.” “I do,” she said. “I know you’ll come out all right.” She held out her hand and he took it with a grip that fairly hurt her. “I mean to,” he answered. “Good night.” “Did John say he was going to bed?” asked Alice, as Dick entered the library. “I thought from the way people have been flying around to-day that there might be something the matter with the bank; but John seemed to feel so cheerful to-night that I guess everything’s all right.” “Yes,” said Dick. “I don’t believe you need worry.” As John had prophesied, they were big days that followed--days that will be talked about down town for another five years. Lard had been a mystery ever since early in May; the wise ones had guessed about it, and those who wished to appear wise had repeated their guesses to others still less expert; but no one had really known anything. But by Monday morning everybody, even to the remotest office boy, understood that this operation was practically a duel between Pickering, the Bull, and Sponley, the Bear. The two men were about equally known; they were supposed to be nearly equal in resources and also in skill, and so it befell that all about the city, and in other cities, men fingered the ribbons of paper that rattled painfully out of the tickers, and wondered what would happen.