"Raise the money!" put in the other, bitterly; "as well talk of raising the soul of Samuel. Did n't I say that I had raised the last money that human ingenuity could raise; that there was not another shining thing left on earth to either of us, but our beauty?--And it would take genius to raise money on that, Sidney, gigantic genius." He stopped, and looked at his brother. The brother poured his soda into the brandy, and said simply, "We must find it." "You find it," said Gordon Montcure, getting up, and walking backward and forward across the room. For full ten minutes Sidney Montcure studied the bottom of his glass. Then he looked up, and said, "Brother, do you remember the little bald-headed man who stopped us on the steps of the Stock Exchange last week?" "Yes; you mean the old ghost with the thin, melancholy face?" "The same. You remember he said that if we were ever in a desperate financial position we should come to the office building on the Wall Street corner and inquire for Randolph Mason, and that Mason would show us a way out of the difficulty; but that under no circumstances were we to say how we happened to come to him, except that we had heard of his ability." "I recall the queer old chap well," said the other. "He seemed too clean and serious for a fakir, but I suppose that is what he was; unless he is wrong in the head, which is more probable." "Do you know, brother," said Sidney Montcure, thrusting his hands into his pockets, "I have been thinking of him, and I have a great mind to go down there in the morning just for a flyer. If there is any such man as Randolph Mason, he is not a fakir, because I know the building, and he could not secure an office in any such prominent place unless he was substantial." "That is true, although I am convinced that you will find Randolph Mason a myth." "At any rate, we have nothing to lose, brother; there may be something in it. Will you go with me to-morrow morning?" The dark man nodded assent, and proceeded to add his autograph to the club's collection, as evidenced by its wine ticket. Gordon and Sidney Montcure were high-caste club men of the New York type, brokers and plungers until three p.m., immaculate gentlemen thereafter. Both were shrewd men of the world. And as they left the Ephmere Club that night, that same club and divers shop-men of various guilds had heavy equitable interests in the success of their plans.