“I’m going to ask you, as a special favour, to let me buy them of you, Wayne,” Colonel Craighill went on calmly. He laughed lightly to minimize the importance of the favour he asked. He knew perfectly how to manage such things, for whatever he lacked in other particulars Colonel Craighill was skilled in the arts of business diplomacy. He created an atmosphere of amity, and Wayne was angry because he felt the spell of it. Colonel Craighill continued as though he were in the daily habit of exchanging courtesies with his son, to emphasize more and more the fact that this was a favour he asked. Wayne knew that he had blundered. If his father asked for the Sand Creek shares in this spirit he could only save his own dignity by relinquishing them. “You see the Hercules National people helped me finance the Sand Creek deal, and they got their friends interested. Moore was one of our friends and it was assumed, of course, that we’d get those shares from his estate. I’ll go a bit further with you, Wayne. The Hercules is carrying my paper for a large amount and they were very decent in October when the pinch came; and until I can make a turn or two in other directions I’m not in a position to displease them. I should take it as a great favour if you would let me have those shares--at your own price.” Colonel Craighill smiled into his son’s eyes. “Certainly, father, you shall have them at the price I paid. I’ll get them from the vault immediately.” A few minutes later he closed his desk with a slam and prepared to leave. He had weakly yielded to his father’s easy, conciliatory speech and the thought of his supineness sharpened his hatred of his father to its keenest edge; but the blade in his hand was an incompetent, worthless thing. He was as weak as Hamlet before the gates of opportunity. He was out of patience with himself; he had boasted a moment before that he was no fool, but without turning a hand his father had tamed him to do his bidding. He felt depression seizing him; the fierce thirst cried in his blood, and there was only one cure for that. The telephone tinkled and he snatched the receiver impatiently. Paddock spoke to him from the parish house at Ironstead. Joe Denny, the chauffeur, was there, very ill, and had asked for Wayne. The current of his thought immediately changed; he had utterly forgotten Joe, and he at once took the trolley for Ironstead. CHAPTER XXVII “I’M GOING BACK TO JOE” “He’s in a bad way with pneumonia,” Paddock explained as he met Wayne at the door. “He crept in here this morning before daylight with a high fever and I put him to bed and got a nurse for him. He’s been out of his head this afternoon and he has asked for you repeatedly. It is kind of you to come. Miss Morley came to help with the cooking class and she’s with him now, to relieve the nurse for an hour. Will you come up?” Joe lay on Paddock’s own bed. The room was darkened and out of the shadows Jean rose to meet them.