want me to tell you?"

"I sure do."

Brockton turned to Laura, who stood listening, rather uneasy at the
turn the conversation was taking.

"Laura," he said quietly, "run into the house and see if Mrs. Williams
has won another quarter. Madison and I are going to smoke a cigar and
have a friendly chat. When we get through, I think we'll both feel
better."

She looked at him anxiously. Fearfully she asked:

"You are sure that everything will be all right?"

"Sure," he said smilingly.

She looked at Madison, as if for reassurance. He nodded and she went
towards the house. When she had disappeared, Brockton held out a
handsomely engraved gold cigar case.

"Have a cigar?" he said cordially, as if to make things as amicable as
possible.

"No--I'll smoke my own," replied Madison coldly.

The men sat down and there was a short silence, during which they lit
and puffed at their cigars. It was now pitch dark outside, and the
brilliant illuminations in the interior of the house only served to
intensify the almost opaque blackness of the grounds. Nothing could be
seen but the glow of each man's cigar, as he puffed it silently. The
broker broke the long pause.

"What's your business?" he demanded curtly.

"What's yours?" retorted the Westerner quickly.

"I'm a broker."

"I'm a reporter."

"What kind?" inquired Brockton.

"General utility--dog fights, and dramatic criticisms."

"Pay you well?" asked Brockton carelessly.

The journalist started and looked up sharply at his interlocutor.

"That's a pretty fresh question!" he exclaimed. "What's the idea?"

"I'm interested--that's all," replied Brockton coolly. Knocking the ash
off his cigar, he continued: "I'm a plain man, Mr. Madison, and I do
business in a plain way. Now, if I ask you a few questions and discuss
this matter with you in a frank way, don't get it in your head that I'm
jealous or sore, but simply I don't want either of you people to make a
move that's going to cost you a lot of pain and trouble. If you want me
to talk sense to you, all right. If you don't we'll drop it now. What's
the answer?"

Madison listened attentively until he stopped speaking. Then he looked
up, his manner defiant and aggressive.

"I'll take a chance," he said contemptuously, "but before you start I
want to tell you that the class of people you belong to, I have no use
for--they don't speak my language. You are what they call a manipulator
of stocks. That means that yo