Any man whose interests are extensive and diverse has sooner or later to master the art of making other men work for him, and he must be content to trust the management of a great part of his affairs to other hands. Jim Weeks loved to keep a grasp even on the comparatively insignificant details of his business, but he showed wonderful insight in the selection of his lieutenants, and he could impart such momentum to his projects that they moved forward as he meant them to, though his own hand was not guiding them. Like other men accustomed to giving orders, he took it for granted that his directions would be carried out. Bridge, the Tillman City alderman to whom he had intrusted the task of watching Blaney, had worked for Jim long enough to know that this affair was in his own hands, and that something more than obedience and zeal was expected of him. Though Jim's words had been brief, it was easy to see that the matter was important; important enough to give Bridge a great opportunity. He wanted to make the most of it, and, in the excitement of laying his plans, the design for the stable was forgotten. As the day wore on and his scheme crystallized, he fluctuated between a sort of exalted confidence and the depths of nervous depression. He was naturally a steady, humdrum sort of man, but he was planning to do an audacious thing. His chance had come, and he meant to take it. At last, just before supper time, he resolutely locked his office, and started out to see Blaney. He hesitated a second or two before the contractor's house; then he ran up the steps and rang the bell. The door was opened by a little girl, who peered up at him through the dusk with a child's curiosity. Bridge knew her, but he was of that kind of bachelors who are embarrassed in the presence of children. “Good evening, Louise,” he said. “Is your father home?” “No, sir, he isn't,” she answered. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then he stammered,-- “Well--good night.” He bent down and gravely shook hands with her, and turned to go down the steps, but at that moment Blaney himself appeared. “How are you?” he said. “Did you want to see me?” “If you've got the time,” said Bridge. Blaney led the way into the house, and motioned Bridge to a seat in the parlor. He himself paused in the hall to swing Louise up to his shoulder and down again. “What's the matter with you to-night?” he asked. “You don't seem to want to play. Are you sick?” “A little,” answered the child. “I'm kind of tired, and my head hurts.” He ran his thick hand through her red curls, and looked at her anxiously for a moment. Then he followed Bridge into the parlor. “What can I do for you, Bridge?” he asked gruffly. Bridge hesitated a moment; then he said, “Jim Weeks was in town this morning.” Blaney looked up sharply, and asked, “Did you see him?”