But I was too jubilant to take gloomy views. The skirmish was over, and we were a step nearer my goal. A few days after that I ran across John Carmichael as I was picking my way in the muck out of the Yards. He was driving in a little red-wheeled road wagon such as the local agents use for running about the city. He called out:-- "Hey, Van Harrington! Come over here!" "Can't Strauss do any better by you than that? Or maybe you have gone back to collecting again?" I asked. The Irishman grunted his acknowledgment of my joke, and we talked about one thing and another, both knowing perfectly well what there was between us. Finally he said it:-- "So you thought you could do better by sticking with the old man?" I nodded. "How long do you think he'll keep goin'?" "About as long as I stay with him, John." "And you put him up to buying that junk at the auction the other day?" he added. "I bought it for myself," I replied promptly. "The h--l you did! Say, kid, this ain't any gospel game you are in. You needn't look for favors from our crowd." "We aren't asking any just now. When we want them, I guess we'll get all that we need." "You will, will you?" Big John raised his whip and hit his horse as if he meant to lay the same lash on me one of these days. The red-wheeled cart disappeared down the road, the figure of the burly Irishman leaning forward and flecking the horse with his lash. CHAPTER XV THE ATLAS ON THE FLOOR _A tell-tale portrait--When the fire of life has gone--The guiding hand--A woman who understands--The highroads of commerce--The great Southwest--Dreams--The art of life--"No one asks, if you succeed"_ Mr. Dround's illness kept him away from business for a mouth or more. He had always been in delicate health, and this worry over the loss of Carmichael and the bad outlook in his affairs was too much for him. His absence gave me the opportunity to form my plans undisturbed by his timidity and doubts. After he recovered, his time was much absorbed by the preparations for the Fair, in which he was much interested. In all this I could see a deft hand guiding and restraining--giving me my rein. At last, when I was ready to lay my plans before Mr. Dround, I made an appointment with him at his house. He was sitting alone in his great library, looking at a picture which one of the artists attracted to the city by the Fair was painting of him. When he heard my step he got up sheepishly and hung a bit of cloth over the portrait, but not before I had seen the cruel truth the painter had been telling his patron. For the face on the canvas was old and gray; the daring and spirit to fight, whatever the man had been born with, had gone out of it. I pitied him as he stood there by his picture, his thin lips trembling with nervousness. He seemed to shrink from me as though afraid of something. We sat down, and after the first words of politeness neither of us spoke. Finally he asked:--