per
foundations, and Fortman--well, you know what Fortman's hovels are
like."

"No, I don't," said Peter drily. "He has never been my landlord."

Mr. Murray appeared to swallow something, probably a wish, with
difficulty.

"They are mere hovels pretending to be villas."

"No one's obliged to live in them."

"There are no others," persisted Mr. Murray desperately, imperilling
his own safety for the cause.

Masters frowned ominously.

"Mr. Murray," he said, "as I have before remarked, you are too
far-sighted. Your work is to sell the ground for the benefit of the
company, which, I may remind you, is for your benefit also. You have
not to build the cottages or live in them. If the people don't like
them they needn't take them. I do not profess to house the people. I
pay them accordingly. They can afford to live in decent houses if they
like."

"If they can get them," remarked the heroic Mr. Murray.

Peter smiled, his anger apparently having melted away.

"Let them arrange it with Fortman, and keep your obstinacy for more
profitable business, Murray, and you'll be as rich as I am some day."

There was nothing apparently offensive in the words, yet the speaker
seemed a singularly unlovable person as he spoke them, and Murray did
not smile at the compliment, but went out with a grave air.

Neither he nor his business lingered on Peter's mind once the door had
closed behind him. Peter got up and lounged to the window. He stood a
while looking down into the street below with its crowd of strangely
foreshortened figures. On the opposite side of the wide street was a
shop where mechanical toys were sold, a paradise for boys. As Peter
watched, a chubby-faced, stout little man with a tall, lanky boy at
his side came to a stand before the windows. Peter knew the man to be
one of the hardest-headed, shrewdest men in the iron trade, and he
guessed the boy was his son. Both figures disappeared within the shop,
the elder with evident reluctance, the younger with assured
expectation. Peter waited a long time--a longer period than he would
have supposed he had to spare, had he thought of it. They emerged at
last in company with a big parcel, hailed a hansom and drove away.
Peter looked at the clock and chuckled. "To think Coblan is that sort
of fool. Well, that youngster will add little to the fortunes of
Coblan and Company. Toys!" He turned away from the window, and, seated
again at his desk, began to scribble down some d