"Oh, Lord, no! Nothing like that." Cora leaned to her confidentially. "He told me, once, he'd be at the feet of any woman that could help put through an affair like his oil scheme, and I decided I'd just show him what I could do. He'd talk about it to me; then he'd laugh at me. That very Sunday when I got papa to go in----" "But he didn't," said Laura helplessly. "He only said he'd try to----when he gets well." "It's all the same--and it'll be a great thing for him, too," said Cora, gayly. "Well, that very afternoon before Val left, he practically told me I was no good. Of course he didn't use just those words--that isn't his way--but he laughed at me. And haven't I shown him! I sent Richard a note that very night saying papa had consented to be secretary of the company, and Richard had said he'd go in if papa did that, and he couldn't break his word----" "I know," said Laura, sighing. "I know." "Laura"--Cora spoke with sudden gravity--"did you ever know anybody like me? I'm almost getting superstitious about it, because it seems to me I _always_ get just what I set out to get. I believe I could have anything in the world if I tried for it." "I hope so, if you tried for something good for you," said Laura sadly. "Cora, dear, you will--you will be a little easy on Hedrick, won't you?" Cora leaned against the newel and laughed till she was exhausted. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Mr. Trumble's offices were heralded by a neat blazon upon the principal door, "Wade J. Trumble, Mortgages and Loans"; and the gentleman thus comfortably, proclaimed, emerging from that door upon a September noontide, burlesqued a start of surprise at sight of a figure unlocking an opposite door which exhibited the name, "Ray Vilas," and below it, the cryptic phrase, "Probate Law." "Water!" murmured Mr. Trumble, affecting to faint. "You ain't going in _there_, are you, Ray?" He followed the other into the office, and stood leaning against a bookcase, with his hands in his pockets, while Vilas raised the two windows, which were obscured by a film of smoke-deposit: there was a thin coat of fine sifted dust over everything. "Better not sit down, Ray," continued Trumble, warningly. "You'll spoil your clothes and you might get a client. That word `Probate' on the door ain't going to keep 'em out forever. You recognize the old place, I s'pose? You must have been here at least twice since you moved in. What's the matter? Dick Lindley hasn't missionaried you into any idea of _working_, has he? Oh, no, _I_ see: the Richfield Hotel bar has closed--you've managed to drink it all at last!" "Have you heard how old man Madison is to-day?" asked Ray, dusting his fingers with a handkerchief. "Somebody told me yesterday he was about the same. He's not going to get well." "How do you know?" Ray spoke quickly. "Stroke too severe. People never recover----" "Oh, yes, they do, too."