Rock looked straight into Greener’s shifty brown eyes. “I said,” he repeated, “that I had proxies for 61,830 shares.” Mr. Greener remembered himself. “I congratulate you, Mr. Rock, on keeping your word. You will find I keep mine equally well,” he said in his normal squeak. “We may as well have an understanding now as any other time, Mr. Greener.” Rock’s eyes did not leave the sallow face of the great railroad wrecker. He knew he had crossed the Rubicon. He was fighting for his future, for the prosperity of his dreams. And he was fighting a giant of giants. All this the clerk thought; and the thought braced him wonderfully. He became self-possessed, discriminating—a Napoleonic bud about to burst into full bloom. “What do you mean?” squeaked Mr. Greener, naïvely. Mr. Brown entered. He was just in time to hear the clerk say: “You have, all told, 110,000 shares of Iowa Midland. President Willetts and his crowd control about the same amount.” “Yes,” said the sallow-faced little man. His forehead was moist—barely moist—with perspiration, but his face was expressionless. His eyes were less furtive; that was all. He was looking intently now at the young clerk, for he understood. “Well, some of the proxies stand in the name of Frederick Rock or John F. Greener, but the greater part in my name alone. I can vote the entire lot as I please. And whichever side I vote for will have an absolute majority. Mr. Greener, I have the naming of the directors, and therefore of the president of the Iowa Midland. And you can’t prevent me; and you can’t touch me; and you can’t do a d—d thing to me!” he ended, defiantly. It was nearly all superfluous, inartistic. But, youth—a defect one overcomes with time! “You infernal scoundrel!” shouted Mr. Brown. He had a short, thick neck, and anger made his face dangerously purple. “I secured most of the proxies,” continued Rock, in a tone that savored slightly of self-defence, “by assuring Weddell, Hopkins & Co. and their friends that I would vote against Mr. Greener.” He paused. “Go ahead, Mr. Rock,” squeaked Mr. Greener; “don’t be afraid to talk.” The pale little man with the black beard and the high forehead not only had a great genius for finance, but possessed wonderful nerve. His squeak was an inconsistency; but it served to make him human. “You offered me $10,000 cash and $2,000 a year.” “Yes,” admitted Mr. Greener, meekly. “How much do you want?” His look became furtive again. A great weight had been removed from his mind. Rock perceived it and became even more courageous. “Weddell, Hopkins & Co. and their friends want me to vote the Willetts ticket, Mr. Willetts having promised to make important reforms. My reward is to be the position of assistant secretary, with headquarters in New York, at a salary of $5,000 a year, to say nothing of the backing of Weddell, Hopkins & Co.” “I’ll do as much and give you $20,000 in cash,” said Mr. Greener, quietly.