“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” returned Lake magnanimously. “I’ll sell you all or any part of it for fifty thousand dollars.” “On the basis of fifty thousand for your entire holdings?” asked the colonel. “No; at the set price of fifty thousand for whatever you take.” “Too much,” said the colonel. “As you please,” said Lake carelessly. “The price of the control of the Bington road goes up one thousand dollars a day. It’s dirt cheap at fifty thousand now, but, of course, if you don’t need it, Colonel, the bargain price doesn’t interest you.” The colonel did need it; in fact, the company, in its sublime confidence, had put itself in a position where failure to get it meant a considerable loss. “On second thought,” remarked Lake, “I’ll have to add a thousand to compensate me for the indignity of being called a half-baked financier. Do you remember that, Colonel?” “We’ll take it,” said the colonel resignedly. Then he added reflectively: “You’ve made a pretty good thing out of this, Lake.” “Fair, fair,” replied Lake. “After I’ve repaid the twenty thousand five hundred that I borrowed, I’ll have thirty thousand five hundred left, not to mention an insurance policy for twenty thousand in favor of my wife, with the first premium paid. You ought to study the insurance question, Colonel. There are wonderful financial possibilities in it, and some day, perhaps, you will wake up to the fact that insurance beat you in this deal.” AN INCIDENTAL FAVOR On the same day two women called to see Dave Murray in regard to the same matter, and that was the beginning of the trouble. The first was Mrs. Albert Vincent. The obituary columns of the morning papers had given a few lines to the death of Albert Vincent, but Murray had not expected to hear from his widow so promptly, and she was a little too businesslike to meet his idea as to the proprieties of the occasion. In fact, there was no indication of either outward mourning or inward grief. “Perhaps you will recall,” she said, without the slightest trace of emotion, “that I wrote to you some time ago to ask if the premiums on my husband’s insurance had been fully paid.” “I recall it,” replied Murray. “And you answered that they had been paid.” “I recall that also,” said Murray. “Well, he died last night,” explained the widow, “and I would like to know when I can get the insurance money.” Murray looked at her in amazement. He had had to deal with many people whom necessity made importunate, but never before had he met such cold-bloodedness as this woman displayed in tone and manner. Apparently, it was no more to her than a business investment, upon which she was now about to realize. “There are certain formalities necessary,” he said, “but there will be little delay after proper proof of death has been filed. You will, of course, have the attending physician—” “I don’t know who he is,” interrupted the woman. “You don’t know who he is!” repeated Murray in astonishment.