"Not this year perhaps, but next. You and Marsh have whipped me this time; but the salmon will come again, and I'll run my plant in spite of hell!" Wayne Wayland made as if to speak, but Boyd went on unheeding: "You've taken a dislike to me, but your conduct shows that you fear me. You are afraid I'll succeed, and I will." "Brave talk!" said the older man. "But you owe one hundred thousand dollars, and your stockholders will learn of your mismanagement." "Your persecution, you mean!" cried the other. "I can explain. They will wait another year. I will raise more money, and they will stand by me." "Perhaps I know more about that than you do." Emerson strode toward the desk menacingly, crying, in a quivering voice: "I warn you to keep your hands off of them. By God! don't try any of your financial trickery with me, or I'll--" Wayne Wayland leaped from his chair, his face purple and his eyes flashing savagely. "Leave this yacht!" he thundered. "I won't allow you to insult me; I won't stand your threats. I've got you where I want you, and when the time comes you'll know it. Now, get out!" He stretched forth a great square hand and closed it so fiercely that the fingers cracked. "I'll crush you--like that!" Boyd turned and strode from the cabin. Half-blinded with anger, he stumbled down the ladder to his launch. "Back to the plant!" he ordered, then gazed with lowering brows and defiant eyes at _The Grande Dame_ as she rested swanlike and serene at her moorings. His anger against Mildred's father destroyed for the time all thought of his disappointment at her own lack of understanding and her cool acceptance of his failure. He saw only that his affairs had reached a final climax where he must bow to the inevitable, or--Big George's parting words came to him--strike one last blow in reprisal. A kind of sickening rage possessed him. He had tried to fight fair against an enemy who knew no scruple, partly that he might win that enemy's respect. Now he was thoroughly beaten and humbled. After all, he was merely an adventurer, without friends of resources. His long struggle had made him the type of man of whom desperate things might be expected. He might as well act the part. Why should he pretend to higher standards than Wayne Wayland or Marsh? George's way was best. By the time he had reached the cannery, he had practically made up his mind. It was the hour of his darkest despair--the real crisis in his life. There are times when it rests with fate to make a strong man stronger or turn him altogether to evil. Such a man will not accept misfortune tamely. He is the reverse of those who are good through weakness; it is his nature to sin strongly.