and yield whenever they get an opportunity, as eager and
as compliant as a _cocotte_.

My lawyers had sold me out; I, fool that I was, had not guarded the only
weak plate in my armor against my companions--the plate over my back, to
shed assassin thrusts. Roebuck and Langdon between them owned the governor;
he owned the Canal Commission; my canal, which gave me access to tide-water
for the product of my Manasquale mines, was as good as closed. I no longer
had the whip-hand in National Coal. The others could sell me out and take
two-thirds of my fortune, whenever they liked--for of what use were my
mines with no outlet now to any market, except the outlets the coal crowd
owned?

As soon as I had thought the situation out in all its bearings, I realized
that there was no escape for me now, that whatever chance to escape I might
have had was closed by my uncovering to Saxe and kicking him. But I did not
regret; it was worth the money it would cost me. Besides, I thought I saw
how I could later on turn it to good account. A sensible man never makes
fatal errors. Whatever he does is at least experience, and can also be used
to advantage. If Napoleon hadn't been half dead at Waterloo, I don't doubt
he would have used its disaster as a means to a greater victory.

Was I downcast by the discovery that those bandits had me apparently at
their mercy? Not a bit. Never in my life have I been downcast over money
matters more than a few minutes. Why should I be? Why should any man be who
has made himself all that he is? As long as his brain is sound, his capital
is unimpaired. When I walked into Mowbray Langdon's office, I was like a
thoroughbred exercising on a clear frosty morning; and my smile was as
fresh as the flower in my buttonhole. I thrust out my hand at him. "I
congratulate you," said I.

He took the proffered hand with a questioning look.

"On what?" said he. It is hard to tell from his face what is going on in
his head, but I think I guessed right when I decided that Saxe hadn't yet
warned him.

"I have just found out from Saxe," I pursued, "about the Canal Bill."

"What Canal Bill?" he asked.

"That puzzled look was a mistake, Langdon," said I, laughing at him. "When
you don't know anything about a matter, you look merely blank. You overdid
it; you've given yourself away."

He shrugged his shoulders. "As you please," said he. As you please was his
favorite expression; a stereotyped irony, for in dealing with hi