Just why it should have done so, he could not have explained. He had seen this Schuyler Tenney almost every day for a good many years, putting them all together, and had never before been troubled, much less alarmed, by the spectacle. But coming now upon what Jessica had told him, and what his own thoughts had evolved, and what he had inadvertently overheard, the figure of the rising hardware merchant loomed darkly in his perturbed fancy as an evil and threatening thing. A rustic client with a grievance sought Tracy out in the seclusion of the dining-room, and dragged him back to his office and into the intricacies of the law of trespass; but though he did his best to listen and understand, the farmer went away feeling that his lawyer was a considerably overrated man. For, strive as he might, Reuben could not get the sound of those words, “you’ve got the whole game in your hands,” out of his ears, or restrain his mind from wearying itself with the anxious puzzle of guessing what that game could be. CHAPTER XVIII.--A SIMPLE BUSINESS TRANSACTION. Mr. Schuyler Tenney had never before been afforded an opportunity of studying a young gentleman of fashion and culture in the intimacy of his private apartments, and he looked about Horace’s room with lively curiosity and interest, when the two conspirators had entered the General’s house, gone up-stairs, and shut doors behind them. “It looks like a ninety-nine-cent store, for all the world,” was his comment when he had examined the bric-à-brac on the walls and mantels, “hefted” a bronze trifle or two on the table, and taken a comprehensive survey of the furniture and hangings. “It’s rather bare than otherwise,” said Horace, carelessly. “I got a tolerably decent lot of traps together when I had rooms in Jermyn Street, but I had to let most of them go when I pulled up stakes to come home.” “German Street? I suppose that is in Germany?” “No--London.” “Oh! Sold ’em because you got hard up?” “Not at all. But this damned tariff of yours--or ours--makes it cost too much to bring decent things over here.” “Protection to American industry, my boy,” said Mr. Tenney, affably. “We couldn’t get on a fortnight without it. Just think what--” “Oh, hang it all, man! We didn’t come here to talk tariff!” Horace broke in, with a smile which was half annoyance. “No, that’s so,” assented Mr. Tenney, settling himself in the low, deep-backed easy-chair, and putting the tips of his lean fingers together. “No, we didn’t, for a fact.” He added, after a moment’s pause: “I guess I’ll have to rig up a room like this myself, when the thing comes off.” He smiled icily to himself at the thought. “Meanwhile, let us talk about the ‘thing,’ as you call it. Will you have a drink?”