ce changed his tactics.
He bought five thousand shares in one block, and sold none. Even then,
the market was only mildly amused. In a fortnight he was the nominal
owner of sixteen thousand shares in a company of which only ten thousand
actually existed. Then he sat still, and the panic began. The shares
in a company which everyone believed to be worthless stood at thirty
dollars, and not a share was offered.

A small pandemonium reigned in Wingrave's sitting room. The telephone
rang all the time; the place was besieged with brokers. Then Wingrave
showed his hand. He had bought these shares to hold; he did not intend
to sell one. As to the six thousand owed to him beyond the number
issued, he was prepared to consider offers. One broker left him a check
for twenty thousand dollars, another for nearly forty thousand. Wingrave
had no pity. He had gambled and won. He would accept nothing less
than par price. The air in his sitting room grew thick with curses and
tobacco smoke.

Aynesworth began by hating the whole business, but insensibly the
fascination of it crept over him. He grew used to hearing the various
forms of protest, of argument and abuse, which one and all left Wingrave
so unmoved. Sphinx-like he lounged in his chair, and listened to all.
He never condescended to justify his position, he never met argument
by argument. He had the air of being thoroughly bored by the whole
proceedings. But he exacted always his pound of flesh.

On the third afternoon, Aynesworth met on the stairs a young broker,
whom he had come across once or twice during his earlier dealings in the
shares. They had had lunch together, and Aynesworth had taken a fancy to
the boy--he was little more--fresh from Harvard and full of enthusiasm.
He scarcely recognized him for a moment. The fresh color had gone from
his cheeks, his eyes were set in a fixed, wild stare; he seemed suddenly
aged. Aynesworth stopped him.

"Hullo, Nesbitt!" he exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

The young man would have passed on with a muttered greeting, but
Aynesworth turned round with him, and led the way into one of the
smaller smoking rooms. He called for drinks and repeated his question.

"Your governor has me six hundred Hardwells short," Nesbitt answered
curtly.

"Six hundred! What does it mean?" Aynesworth asked.

"Sixty thousand dollars, or thereabouts," the young man answered
despairingly. "His brokers won't listen to me, and your governor--well,
I've just b