The typometer disaster had proved as bad as, and worse than, he had feared, but he was working retrieval with splendid effort, calling all his personal magnetism into play where it was possible. He had borrowed a large sum from Lewiston’s,—a young private banking firm, glad at the moment to lend at a fairly large interest for a term of months,—holding on to the dissatisfied customers and creating new demand for the machine, so that the sales forged ahead of Cater’s, with whom there was still a good-natured we-rise-together sort of rivalry, though it seemed at times as if it might take a sharper edge. Leverich’s dictum regarding Cater embodied an extension of the policy to be pursued with minor, outlying competitors: “You’ll have to force that fellow out of business or get him to come into the combine.” Leverich again smiled on Justin. Immediate success was the price demanded for the continuance of a backing; there was just a little of the high-handed quality in his manner which says, “No more nonsense, if you please.” That morning after the ball had shown Justin the fangs that were ready, if he showed symptoms of “falling down,” to shake him ratlike by the neck and cast him out. “Papa dear, papa dear! There’s a man coming up the walk, my papa dear.” “Why, so there is,” said Justin, rising and setting the child down gently as he went forward with outstretched hand, while Lois simultaneously appeared once more on the piazza. “Why, how are you, Larue? I’m mighty glad to see you back again. When did you get home?” “The steamer got in day before yesterday,” said the newcomer, shaking hands heartily with host and hostess. He was a man with a dark, pointed beard and mustache, deep-set eyes, and an unusually pleasant deep voice that seemed to imply a grave kindliness. His glance lingered over Lois. “How are you, Mrs. Alexander? Better, I hope? Which chair shall I push out of the sun for you—this one?” “Yes, thank you,” responded Lois, sinking into it, with her billows of lilac muslin and her rich brown hair against the background of green vines. “Aren’t you going to sit down yourself?” “Thank you, I’ve only a minute,” said the visitor, leaning against one of the piazza-posts, his wide hat in his hand. “I’m out at my place at Collingswood for the summer, and the trains don’t connect very well on Sunday. I had to run down here to see some people, but I thought I wouldn’t pass you by.” “Did you have a pleasant trip?” asked Lois. “Very pleasant,” rejoined Mr. Larue, without enthusiasm. “Oh, by the way, Alexander, I heard that you were inquiring for me at the office last week. Anything I can do for you?” “Have you any money lying around just now that you don’t know what to do with?” asked Justin significantly. Mr. Larue’s dark, deep-set eyes took on the guarded change which the mention of money brings into social relations. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “May I come around to-morrow at three o’clock and talk to you?”