as to L. & G. W. and Belt Line
matter will be executed. HALLIDAY."

I was feverish until two o'clock; for I could not guess the effect of
this telegram, should it be read by Pendleton. I found him impassive and
keen-eyed, and I waited longer than usual for that aquiline swoop of
his, as he turned in his revolving chair. I felt sure then that he had
not read the message. I think differently now.

"Well, Mr. Barslow," said he smilingly, "how far down in the millions
are we to-day?"

"Mr. Pendleton," I replied, steady as to tone, but with a quiver in my
legs, "I can say nothing less than an even two millions."

"It's too much," said he cheerfully, and my heart sank, "but I like
Lattimore, and you men who live there, and I want to stay in the town.
I'll have the legal department prepare a contract covering the whole
matter of transfers and future relations, and providing for the price
you mention. You can submit it to your people, and in a short time I
shall be in Chicago, and, if convenient to you, we can meet there and
close the transaction. As a matter of form, I shall submit it to our
directors; but you may consider it settled, I think."

"One of our number," said I, as calmly as if a two-million-dollar
transaction were common at Lattimore, "can meet you in Chicago at any
time. When will this contract be drawn?"

"Call to-morrow morning--say at ten. Show them in," this last to his
clerk, "Good-morning, Mr. Barslow."

One doesn't get as hilarious over a victory won alone as when he goes
over the ramparts touching elbows with his charging fellows. The hurrah
is a collective interjection. So I went in a sober frame of mind and
telegraphed Jim and Alice of my success, cautioning my wife to say
nothing about it. Then I wandered about New York, contrasting my way of
rejoicing with the demonstration when we three had financed the
Lattimore & Great Western bonds. I went to a vaudeville show and
afterward walked miles and miles through the mysteries of the night in
that wilderness. I was unutterably alone. The strain of my solitary
mission in the great city was telling upon me.

"Telegram for you, Mr. Barslow," said the night clerk, as I applied for
my key.

It was a long message from Jim, and in cipher. I slowly deciphered it,
my initial anxiety growing, as I progressed, to an agony.

"Come home at once," it read. "Cornish deserting. Must take care of the
hound's interest somehow.