The attorney for an instant softened his manner as he looked into the straight-gazing, unafraid eyes of his client. "I've known you from your babyhood. I advised your father before you were born. You have, by the chance of birth, come into the control of great wealth. The world of finance is of delicate balance. Squabbles in certain directorates may throw the Street into panic. Suddenly, you emerge from decent quiet, and run amuck in the china-shop, bellowing and tossing your horns. You make war on those whose interests are your own. You seem bent on hari-kari. You have toys enough to amuse you. Why couldn't you stay put?" "They weren't the right things. They were, as you say, toys." The smile faded and Horton's chin set itself for a moment, as he added: "If you don't think I'm going to stay put--watch me." "Why do you have to make war--to be chronically insurgent?" "Because"--the young man, who had waked up, spoke slowly--"I am reading a certain writing on the wall. The time is not far off when, unless we regulate a number of matters from within, we shall be regulated from without. Then, instead of giving the financial body a little griping in its gold-lined tummy, which is only the salutary effect of purging, a surgical operation will be required. It will be something like one they performed on the body politic of France not so long ago. Old Dr. Guillotine officiated. It was quite a successful operation, though the patient failed to rally." "Take for instance this newspaper war you've inaugurated on the police," grumbled the corporation lawyer. "It's less dangerous to the public than these financial crusades, but decidedly more so for yourself. You are regarded as a dangerous agitator, a marplot! I tell you, Wilfred, aside from all other considerations the thing is perilous to yourself. You are riding for a fall. These men whom you are whipping out of public life will turn on you." "So I hear. Here's a letter I got this morning--unsigned. That is, I thought it was here. Well, no matter. It warns me that I have less than three months to live unless I call off my dogs." The Honorable Mr. Wickliffe's face mirrored alarm. "Let me have it," he demanded. "You shouldn't treat such matters lightly. Men are assassinated in New York. I'll refer it to the police." Horton laughed. "That would be in the nature of referring back, wouldn't it? I fancy it came from some one not so remote from police sympathy." "What are you going to do about it?" "I'm going to stay put. If I can convict certain corrupt members of the department, I'm going to nail brass-buttoned hides all over the front of the city hall." "Have you had any other threats?" "No, not exactly, but I've had more touching recognition than that. I've been asked to resign from several very good clubs." The attorney groaned. "You will be a Pariah. So will your allies."