“I may as well give you the whole story, Mr. Corrigan. The daughter of our Captain Craig went to Chicago some twenty years ago as Bigelow's private secretary. They were married and had two children, and then they were divorced. The courts allowed Mrs. Bigelow a decent income by way of alimony, most of which was never paid, and in some letters Bigelow admitted that it was unpaid. A little while ago, Le Duc, a fellow I had known in college, who had drifted on the stage and was rather up against it, married the daughter, Elizabeth Bigelow. They were all poor--Mrs. Bigelow (or Mrs. Craig, as she is now known) was really in want--and finally Le Duc got the letters from her and went out one evening to Evanston to demand money from Bigelow. Instead of giving it to him, Bigelow bought him off by offering him a position as the nominal head of the corner he was contemplating on the Board. Le Duc accepted, kept the letters, and cast off Mrs. Craig, who is now living here in Wauchung with her father. Just before I saw you he told me himself that Bigelow was the man behind him in his operations. That's the story.” “Well--well,” observed Corrigan, with a distressed expression. “And in telling it to you, I'm assuming that you don't want a Board of Trade plunger at the head of your combination.” “No, no, of course we don't. Now, Mr. Halloran, what is it exactly that you have to suggest?” “Say to Mr. Bigelow at your meeting that you have been told that he is behind the corner and request an explanation.” “Yes?” “If he can explain, well and good. You can refer the whole matter to me. But if he can't--there you are.” Corrigan pondered. “That seems fair. I'll talk it over with my father. I'm much obliged to you, anyhow.” “Not at all.” A reaction had followed the fire and the long strain leading up to it. They all felt it. Crosman, wearied by the comparative idleness that was forced upon him, was irritable and inclined to chafe against the steady disapproval of Mrs. Higginson. Halloran was plunged in gloom most of the time. And to add to the depression Captain Craig decided to give up his post. “You see, Mr. Halloran,” he said, in speaking of it, “you maybe wouldn't think to look at me that I'm a great-grandfather, but I've known it by my feelings since the fire. I didn't stand it very well--the running and the wet and all; and my eyes have been bothering me, too. Jennie and me, we've been talking it over, and she thinks I ought to just quit now, and look after the garden, and take it kind of easy. There's no room for us old fellows now, anyhow. A man had better make up his mind to it before he gets crowded out. I've saved a little something--enough to live on, and I've got my place, and I guess that's enough for anybody.” “You're mistaken, Captain. There's not a better man on the Lakes, and I'm glad to tell you so. The _Number One_ is yours as long as you'll keep her.”