"Well, I don't know anything about his affairs, of course," said Wheaton, yet feeling that Margrave's confidences must be reciprocated. "Just between ourselves,"--he waited for Margrave to nod and grunt in his solemn way--"he did buy a little some time ago, but no great amount. It would take a good deal of money to control that company." "You're dead right, it would; and Porter hasn't any business fooling with it. You've got to syndicate a thing like that. He's probably got a tip from some one of his Eastern friends as to what they're going to do, and he's buying in, when he can, to get next. But say, he hasn't any Traction bonds, has he?" Wheaton had already said more than he had intended, and repented now that he had been drawn into this conversation; but Margrave was bending toward him with a great air of condescending intimacy. Porter had never been confidential with him; and it was really Margrave who had given him his start. "I don't think so; at least I never knew of it." His mind was on those checks to Peckham, which clearly represented purchases of stock. Of course, Porter might have bonds, too, but having gone thus far he did not like to admit to Margrave how little he really knew of Porter's doings. Margrave was puffing solemnly at his cigar, and changed the subject. When he rose to go and stood stamping down his trousers, which were forever climbing up his fat legs when he sat, Wheaton felt an impulse to correct any false impressions which he might have given Margrave; but he was afraid to try this. He would discredit himself with Margrave by doing so. He had not intended to leave so early, but he hated to let go of Margrave, and he followed him into the coat room. "That's all between us--that little matter," said Margrave, as they were helped into their coats by the sleepy colored boy. Wheaton wanted to say this himself, but Margrave saved him the trouble. "Certainly, Mr. Margrave." CHAPTER XXIII WILLIAM PORTER RETURNS FROM A JOURNEY Porter went into Fenton's private office and shut and locked the door after him. He always did this, and Fenton, who humored his best client's whims perforce, pushed back the law book which he was reading and straightened the pens on his blotter. "I didn't expect you back so soon," he said. Porter looked tired and there were dark rings under his eyes. "Short horse soon curried," he remarked, pulling a packet from his overcoat. There was something boyish in Porter's mysterious methods, which always amused Fenton when they did not alarm and exasperate him. Porter sat down at a long table and the lawyer drew up a chair opposite him. "Which way have you been this time?" "Down in the country," returned Porter, indefinitely. Fenton laughed and watched his client pulling the rubber bands from his package. "What have you there--oats or wheat?" "What I have here," said Porter, straightening out the crisp papers he had taken from his bundle, "is a few shares of Clarkson Traction stock."