Here Mr. Grove Norquay appeared to feel that he moved at last in his proper sphere. He loved the sound and echo of huge sums, of complicated transactions, of facing men over a massive desk and deciding matters that involved much money. He liked noise, action--it gave him a sense of power, of irresistibility--just as he liked being master on his own yacht and host to a crowd of people who talked a little louder and faster and drank a little oftener and danced with a trifle more abandon than was really necessary. He could have a "whale of a time" with a lively crowd, whether the party was stag or mixed. On dead ones, either social or financial, Grove wasted no moment of his valuable time. A man with money and a sporting inclination, a woman with any pretensions to youth and beauty, could be reasonably sure of Grove Norquay's consideration,--at any rate for a time. He esteemed the good mixers as the salt of the earth. But they had to be the "right" sort of people. By his birth, training and antecedents Grove held himself duly qualified to judge of that beyond dispute. He was attempting to convey the weight of this mature judgment to Rod one forenoon some days later. Rod and Phil had come down with the _Haida_ to meet their father on his return from a trip South. A mild curiosity to see Grove's shop had led Rod into the Norquay Trust Building. Grove had shown him about and explained the scope of the undertaking with what interested Rod as ill-concealed pride. "I believe you're all puffed up about this thing," he said amusedly, when they sat down at last in Grove's private office. "Well, why not?" Grove conceded. "I organized it. It's a pretty big show, and it's my show." "After all, it's only a money-making scheme, isn't it? You don't make anything or do anything, do you? You just handle sums of money and grab off a percentage. Eh?" Rod said innocently. He was thinking of Phil's phrase: glorified pawnbroking. "Oh, tush--you don't understand." Grove dismissed that. Then he proceeded to fraternal advice, slightly tinged with remonstrance. "Didn't I see you walking along Beach Avenue with that Thorn girl after dinner last night? I understand she's down here going to school." "Probably you did," Rod answered indifferently. Grove frowned. "It's hardly the thing for you to cultivate her publicly," he observed. "A fellow can't carry on these country kid acquaintances in town. Aren't there girls enough in your own crowd for you to stroll along the beach with?" "Look here," Rod challenged earnestly, "with your record in the female line you're barking up the wrong tree when you start advising me to keep within bounds. My own taste and judgment are quite as good as yours." Grove eyed him coolly. "_My_ record in the female line," he murmured. "I didn't know I had one."