napped Faxon brutally, "even you."

"Well, go on."

"In the paper this morning there is a mess of stuff, probably cooked up
by that damn fool, Good, taking the side of those girls against us. Now
what I want to know is the meaning of it."

"The meaning?"

"Yes. Are you on our side or on theirs?"

"My dear Faxon," said Roger, "you have already told me how little I know
about such things. How can you expect me to answer such a question as
that? Mr. Good has my sister's confidence and mine. If he ran this
article, I believe it to be a good article. And anyway, who the hell are
you to come here asking me questions like that?" The young man's temper
had suddenly ignited. His face paled and his lips became set in a thin
straight line.

Faxon raised his hand. "Now don't get sore, Roger," he said more
affably. "I simply want to come to an understanding with you, so we know
where each other stands, that's all. Were these articles printed with
your sanction or not?" he asked slowly, tapping on the desk with his
pencil.

"I wasn't consulted," said Roger simply; "that's not my business."

"Well, damn it," roared Faxon, losing his temper, "it ought to be your
business! Isn't it your business to prevent a lot of crack-brained
idiots from making a fool out of you?"

"I don't see that they are."

"Well, everybody else sees it. Now look here, Roger. We'll overlook it
this time because it wasn't done with your knowledge or consent and you
naturally don't understand matters very clearly yet. But it can't happen
again, you hear. We won't stand for it."

"And who is supposed to be talking?" asked Roger mildly.

"Who's talking? _I'm_ talking! And I'm a vice-president of Corey &
Company. That's who's talking."

Roger shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette. "Honestly, Joe, I
don't get you at all. What's all the fuss about anyway?"

"Good God, man," cried Faxon in exasperation. He drew a long breath,
and, drawing his chair up closer to Roger's, began an elementary
explanation of certain business relationships.

In the meanwhile Bassett and Jenkins and Good sat staring moodily at one
another.

"It's a shame!" exclaimed Bassett, savagely chewing on his unlighted
cigar. "He'll twist that kid around his finger. He'll pull the wool over
his eyes forty different ways."

"Faxon's a clever fellow," mused Jenkins mournfully.

Good filled his pipe and lighted it. He smoked in silence for a little
while.

"The Lord's got to b