"Have a cigar?" he said cordially, as if to make things as amicable as possible. "No--I'll smoke my own," replied Madison coldly. The men sat down and there was a short silence, during which they lit and puffed at their cigars. It was now pitch dark outside, and the brilliant illuminations in the interior of the house only served to intensify the almost opaque blackness of the grounds. Nothing could be seen but the glow of each man's cigar, as he puffed it silently. The broker broke the long pause. "What's your business?" he demanded curtly. "What's yours?" retorted the Westerner quickly. "I'm a broker." "I'm a reporter." "What kind?" inquired Brockton. "General utility--dog fights, and dramatic criticisms." "Pay you well?" asked Brockton carelessly. The journalist started and looked up sharply at his interlocutor. "That's a pretty fresh question!" he exclaimed. "What's the idea?" "I'm interested--that's all," replied Brockton coolly. Knocking the ash off his cigar, he continued: "I'm a plain man, Mr. Madison, and I do business in a plain way. Now, if I ask you a few questions and discuss this matter with you in a frank way, don't get it in your head that I'm jealous or sore, but simply I don't want either of you people to make a move that's going to cost you a lot of pain and trouble. If you want me to talk sense to you, all right. If you don't we'll drop it now. What's the answer?" Madison listened attentively until he stopped speaking. Then he looked up, his manner defiant and aggressive. "I'll take a chance," he said contemptuously, "but before you start I want to tell you that the class of people you belong to, I have no use for--they don't speak my language. You are what they call a manipulator of stocks. That means that you are living on the weaknesses of other people, and it almost means that you get your daily bread--yes--and your cake and your wine, too, from the sweat and toil of others. You're a safe gambler, a 'gambler under cover.' Show me a man who's dealing bank; he's free and above board. But you--you can figure the percentage against you, and then if you buck the tiger and get stung, you do it with your eyes open. With you Wall Street men, the game is crooked twelve months of the year. From a business point of view, I think you're a crook!" He paused, as if to see the effect of his words. Then he added: "Now I guess we understand each other. If you've got anything to say, why--spill it." Brockton rose impatiently. His voice rising in anger, he said: "We're not talking business now, but women. How much money do you earn?" For a moment Madison was taken aback by the very impudence of the question. He glared at his questioner, and half rose from his seat with a threatening gesture. But noting the cool and composed manner of the broker, he merely shrugged his shoulders. Clenching his teeth, he leaned forward and said warningly: