d, and the further I
figured the colder the sweat, until at last in an agony of perplexity I
again called up Mr. Rogers. My agitation must have betrayed itself in my
voice, though I tried to assume a tone of calm inquiry.

"Mr. Rogers," I said, "I've been vainly trying to figure out the meaning
of the subscription figures you gave me and I cannot make head or tail
of them. You said '400 to 425 millions'; of course that means you have
put in our dummy subscription, but what was the real subscription? It is
absolutely essential that I know to-night, for in the morning I shall be
besieged for information, and ignorance on my part may get all hands
into trouble."

"Lawson," he replied, "you must not talk such things over the wire--you
don't know who is listening. You must not."

"I can't help it," I replied determinedly. "I positively must have the
real figures, for even you and Mr. Stillman may have made a slip-up and
I want to work the thing out so that I may have it clear in my head for
the morning. It is essential."

He realized that it was useless to try to escape my insistence, and he
snapped out:

"All I can say now is, it is between 125 and 150 millions real, solid
subscriptions, backed with actual money. We haven't got it figured out
within some millions, and won't before to-morrow, when we will put in
our subscription for the right amount, but we know it is surely between
these two figures, and that each subscriber will have about one share in
five, so we shall have a good, strong twenty-five per cent. margin. That
is all I will or can say to-night."

I heard the sharp click as he hung up the receiver.

I went back to my pencil and pad and began again the interminable
figuring. My head throbbed and my senses reeled. In those still, dark
hours of the early morning I covered sheet after sheet with figures, all
of which had for a basis 125 to 150 millions, 400 to 425 millions, one
in five, and twenty-five per cent. margin, and these figures I turned
and twisted in a vain, vain effort to bring out something with fifteen
millions for an answer.

"No, it will not come," I said to myself at last in hopeless despair.

Numb and dull, I leaned back in my chair with half-closed eyes, while
night, that master phantom maker, played upon my harried nerves and
distraught mind. Stealthily out of his murky caldron the ghosts and
goblins crept. I saw the spectres of all my dearest dreams trail
slouching by, jostled and d