"Well, it costs money. But I mean to put this thing through, and you know at the best I may lose every cent I have made in twelve years. It's no time to be squeamish, Slocum." "I wish--" he began, and paused. "You wish, if there is any more of this kind of thing, I would get some one else to do my business? But I can't! I must have a man I can rely upon." It meant a good reward for him, too, if we carried through my great plan. But Slocum was not the one to be reached in that way. He needed the money, and wanted it badly, but money alone wouldn't make him stick by me. I knew that. "We'll hope this is the last," I said, after a time. "And, besides, I take the risk. I want you, and you won't go back on me. I need you, Slo!" He made no reply. Sure enough, late that afternoon Slocum telephoned me that Lokes had come back and signified his consent and that of his associates to our terms. The bondholders would take notes, to be converted later into bonds of the new company at fifty cents on the dollar. Lokes asked for some kind of agreement about the stock he was to get for his "services," which I refused to give him, on Slocum's advice. He had to content himself with Slocum's statement that he was dealing with gentlemen. [Illustration: _That comedy took place on the court-house steps according to law._] The next step in the proceedings was the sheriff's sale of the defunct corporation's effects, which was ordered by the court for the following Monday. That comedy took place on the court-house steps according to law. The sheriff read the decree of court to an audience of hoboes, who were roosting on the steps, and some passers-by halted to see the proceedings. When the sheriff asked for bids, a little Jew lawyer in a shiny silk hat stepped forward out of the crowd and made his bid. This was Marx, the junior member of a firm employed by Strauss. Just as the sheriff was about to nod to the Jew, Slocum stepped forward with a certified check in his hand and bid in the property for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. There was nothing for Marx to do; Carmichael had given him no instructions for this contingency. He had his orders, and he stood there with his jaw hanging, while Slocum handed in the certified check and completed the formality of the sale. "It is fraud!" Marx shouted, shaking his fist in my face as we left. Perhaps he was right; but whatever fraud there was in the transaction did not concern Marx or the men he represented. They had been euchred at their own game. And they knew it: we never heard anything more from the Strauss crowd about the London and Chicago bonds. "Well, you've got it," Slocum said, as we came away from the sale. "I hope we won't have trouble with Lokes." "That's all right," I replied. "We've got him where he can't make trouble." "There's usually a tail to this kind of thing--you never can tell when you have reached the end."