"I have three thousand shares of Princeton Platinum stock," Fenton went on, with the condescending air of one who elaborately explains details which he knows will not be understood. "I bought at two and seven-eighths, with money that should go to pay notes due on Saturday. The stock was worth two and an eighth last night and very likely by to-night won't be worth anything." "Then why didn't you sell yesterday?" Edith asked. Arthur smiled at the feminine turn of her words. "Because, my shrewd financier, I don't want to sell at a loss, and Mr. Irons assures me that there will be a rise before the final collapse." He did not add, as he might have done, the substance of the talk between himself and Irons. That wily financier had said to him one day,-- "Fenton, you were almighty toploftical about those railroad shares, and I'll give you another chance. I've had four thousand shares of Princeton Platinum turned over to me on an assignment. It cost me two, and you may have it at that figure, though it's worth two and a half in the market to-day." "You are too generous, by half," Fenton had answered. "Well, the fact is," Irons had responded, "I hate infernally to be under obligations. Princeton Platinum is wild-cat fast enough, but it will touch four before they let the bottom drop out. That I happen to know. This will give you a chance to make a neat thing out of it, and it will square off the obligation our syndicate's under to you." "Thank you," was Fenton's answer; "but the obligation, such as it is, I prefer to have stand, and I haven't any money to put into stock of any kind now." "Well, think it over. Don't let your sentiments interfere too much with business. I'll hold the stock for you for three days. If you're fool enough to miss your opportunity after that I'm not responsible." Naturally, this portion of the conversation Fenton did not impart to his wife. Edith's look became more perplexed as her talk with her husband continued; and the matter-of-fact way in which he spoke of approaching disaster was to her unintelligible. "What is going to collapse?" she asked at length. "The stock?" "Certainly, my dear. There isn't anything behind it. I doubt if there ever was any Princeton Platinum mine, but I did think the men who were managing it were clever enough to get it to four or four and a half before they let go." "But how could they get it to four or four and a half, if there isn't any mine?" "By gulling fools like me, my dear; that's the way these things are always done." A troubled look came over Mrs. Fenton's face, and her lips closed a little more tightly. "Well," demanded her husband impatiently, "what is it? Moral scruples?" "It doesn't seem to me to be very honest stock to be dealing in," Edith replied, timidly. "To discuss the morality of stock speculation," he replied, with coolly elaborate courtesy, "is much like eating a fig. You may be biting the seeds all day without being sure you've finished them."