“Saturated,” agreed Mr. Stackpole, dully. “But there’s one thing I’d have to stipulate in accepting a loan on these. Not a share must be thrown on the market, or, at least, not before I have failed to respond to your call. I have understood that there is a little feeling between you and Mr. Hand and the other gentlemen I have mentioned. But, as I say—and I’m talking perfectly frankly now—I’m in a corner, and it’s any port in a storm. If you want to help me I’ll make the best terms I can, and I won’t forget the favor.” He opened the bag and began to take out the securities—long greenish-yellow bundles, tightly gripped in the center by thick elastic bands. They were in bundles of one thousand shares each. Since Stackpole half proffered them to him, Cowperwood took them in one hand and lightly weighed them up and down. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stackpole,” he said, sympathetically, after a moment of apparent reflection, “but I cannot possibly help you in this matter. I’m too involved in other things myself, and I do not often indulge in stock-peculations of any kind. I have no particular malice toward any one of the gentlemen you mention. I do not trouble to dislike all who dislike me. I might, of course, if I chose, take these stocks and pay them out and throw them on the market to-morrow, but I have no desire to do anything of the sort. I only wish I could help you, and if I thought I could carry them safely for three or four months I would. As it is—” He lifted his eyebrows sympathetically. “Have you tried all the bankers in town?” “Practically every one.” “And they can’t help you?” “They are carrying all they can stand now.” “Too bad. I’m sorry, very. By the way, do you happen, by any chance, to know Mr. Millard Bailey or Mr. Edwin Kaffrath?” “No, I don’t,” replied Stackpole, hopefully. “Well, now, there are two men who are much richer than is generally supposed. They often have very large sums at their disposal. You might look them up on a chance. Then there’s my friend Videra. I don’t know how he is fixed at present. You can always find him at the Twelfth Ward Bank. He might be inclined to take a good portion of that—I don’t know. He’s much better off than most people seem to think. I wonder you haven’t been directed to some one of these men before.” (As a matter of fact, no one of the individuals in question would have been interested to take a dollar of this loan except on Cowperwood’s order, but Stackpole had no reason for knowing this. They were not prominently identified with the magnate.) “Thank you very much. I will,” observed Stackpole, restoring his undesired stocks to his bag.