John was too dazed to speak. Not only was Haviland speculating, but he was speculating with the funds of the company. He was vainly endeavoring to collect his scattered wits when Haviland came in, panting and in hot haste. He gave the broker's clerk a shove that sent him spinning toward the wall, then with a single furious ejaculation he snatched up the bonds and disappeared into the private office. During the next two or three days John in fancy lived through all the agony of an unsuccessful search for another position, and at last awoke to a proper understanding of the case. Haviland was afraid to dismiss him. The directors' meeting was called for the twenty-ninth, and late in the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, as John was closing his desk, Haviland came out of the private office and strode to his side. “I want you to come up to my house to-night, Norton; it's about that statement I want to see you. Can you come?” John did not look at Haviland; he felt embarrassed and ill at ease. They had avoided each other for days. “I am sorry to bother you, Norton. Won't you come up to dinner? I am all alone.” “No,” hastily. “I guess I'd better not; my wife will be expecting me.” “Just as you like. I can look for you about eight?” “Yes.” Haviland moved away a step. He was mopping his face with his handkerchief. He seemed old and broken. His aggressive arrogance of manner had entirely deserted him. “Everything was all right to-day?” he inquired aimlessly. “I think so.” “Then I'll look for you at eight.” Haviland turned and went slowly into the private office. As John passed the door on his way out he caught a glimpse of the managing director; he was sitting with his elbows resting on his desk and his chin sunk in his hands. When John mounted the steps at Haviland's that night, it was with a good deal of reluctance. The butler admitted him and showed him into the library, where Haviland welcomed him with an effusive cordiality that only served to increase his desire to escape from the house. A table stood in the center of the room, with cigars and decanters on it. Haviland had evidently been drinking; his face was flushed and his manner confident. John put aside the glass he pushed toward him. “I'll have a cigar, if you don't mind—thanks.” Haviland leaned back in his chair. “Well, how's the statement coming on? The business makes a pretty good showing, eh?” “It's been the biggest year in the history of the house.” “If they'd let me alone, I'd make Bliss, Haviland and Company a power,” with something of his old self-assertiveness. “But they don't see it my way.” John looked his assent. Haviland filled his glass. “You won't join me?” “No, I thank you.”