“You'll excuse us, Mr. West,” he said pleasantly. “We have an engagement for the latter part of the evening.” “Yes,” added his daughter, “we promised to go out to Edgewater--the Saddle and Cycle, you know.” Harvey bowed and stood immovable, as father, daughter, and Mr. McNally left the garden. She had given him a quick glance, and he wondered what it meant. He sat down and absently broke the straws in his glass. The orchestra had stopped, and a buzz of conversation floated into the foliage. White-clad waiters bustled about with trays piled high. After another number he started for home, blue and angry. As he left the elevated and walked down Ashland Avenue, he saw that Jim's house was lighted up, and he crossed over. Jim and he were better friends than their relative positions indicated. Neither had family ties, and Jim's interest in the younger man was perhaps the nearest approach to sentiment he had felt for years. He seldom openly showed his regard, but Harvey was perfectly conscious of it, and he valued it highly. Jim was sitting alone at the table in the library. He greeted Harvey by tipping back and waving toward a seat. The table was littered with papers. “How are you?” said Jim. “We've stolen a march on you.” Harvey smiled, and threw himself wearily into a chair at the other end of the table. “What is it?” he asked. “C. & S.C. again?” Jim nodded, and drawing out his cigar case, he took one and tossed the case down to Harvey, then said:-- “Yes, and I think we've got 'em down. We've issued some more stock.” He leaned on the table and spoke in a confidential tone. “And I reckon Porter'll be doing a hornpipe when he finds it out.” “Who took it?” asked Harvey. “Spencer, Myers, and I. The books haven't been closed, you know.” Harvey blew out a thin cloud of smoke, and looked at it meditatively. “Nine thousand shares,” continued Jim, “If there's anything he can do now, he's welcome to try.” “Do you think he will try?” “Oh, yes, he'll come at us with something or other. But he can't do a thing.” There was a long silence, then Harvey said,-- “You didn't pay cash for the stock?” “Ten per cent,” Jim replied. Harvey fingered his cigar. Every new move of Jim's bewildered him. Jim's imperturbability, and his eagerness for a fight where some men would be discouraged, were qualities that Harvey was slow in acquiring. His admiration for Jim amounted almost to reverence. Perhaps had he realized the bitter fighting that was yet to come, if he could have foreseen the part that he was to play with zeal and judgment, he would have been even more bewildered, but Harvey was plucky enough; it needed only the right circumstances to develop him. “If he does fight,” said Jim, breaking the silence, “if he succeeds in landing on us, why, then, look out for war. I'll put my last cent into M. & T. before I'll give him a chance at it.” “Is he likely to grab the road?”