“The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe. They think you've done 'em again. I am spreading the report that you have the control cinched. As soon as the scramble is really on I'll have a half dozen brokers buying for us.” It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant, triumphant. “Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've got 'em, sure!” And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow. “Hooray for our side! They're dead and buried! You have two hundred shares more than fifty per cent, of the common stock. The Louisville road is in your pocket, Mr. Colton. I congratulate you. Might have known they couldn't lick the old man. You are a wonder. I'll write full particulars and then I am going home and to bed. I'm dead. I didn't believe you could do it! How did you?” I sat there, staring at the 'phone. Then, all at once, I began to laugh, weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless. “I--I organized a Development Company,” I gasped. “Good night.” I rose from the chair and walked out into the library. I was so completely fagged out by the strain I had been under that I staggered as I walked. The library door opened and Johnson came in. He was beaming, actually beaming with joy. “He's very much better, sir,” he cried. “He's conscious and the doctor says he considers 'im out of danger now. Miss Mabel sent word she would be down in a short while. She can't leave the mistress immediate, but she'll be down soon, sir.” I looked at him in a dazed way. “Tell Miss Colton that I am very glad, Johnson,” I said. “And tell her, too, that everything here is satisfactory also. Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has his control.” “'His control!' And what may that be, if you please, sir?” “She will understand. Say that everything is all right, we have won and that Mr. Colton has his control. Don't forget.” “And--and where will you be, sir?” “I am going home, I think. I am going home and--to bed.” CHAPTER XXIII The next thing I remember with any distinctness is Dorinda's knocking at my bedroom door. I remember reaching that bedroom, of course, and of meeting Lute in the kitchen and telling him that I was not to be disturbed, that I should not come down to supper and that I wanted to be let alone--to be let ALONE--until I saw fit to show myself. But these memories are all foggy and mixed with dreams and nightmares. As I say, the next thing that I remember distinctly after staggering from the Colton library is Dorinda's knocking at the door of my bedroom. “Ros! Roscoe!” she was calling. “Can you get up now? There is somebody downstairs waitin' to see you.” I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses. “What time is it, Dorinda?” I asked, drowsily. “About ten, or a little after.” Ten! Then I had not slept so long, after all. It was nearly four when I went to bed and . . . But what made the room so light? There was no lamp. And the windows . . . I sat up.