lmost anything he goes into should be highly successful."

Mr. Westlake slowly whirled his thumbs in the other direction, three
separate twirls, and stopped them.

"Yes," he agreed. "I'm investing the money in just Sam myself,
although the scheme itself looks like a splendid one."

Miss Westlake was silent a moment while she twisted at the button on
her father's coat sleeve.

"I don't quite understand this matter of stock control," she went on
presently. "You've explained it to me, but I don't seem quite to get
the meaning of it."

"Well, it's like this," explained Mr. Westlake. "Sam Turner, with only
a paltry investment, say about five thousand dollars, wants to be able
to dictate the entire policy of a million-dollar concern. In other
words, he wants a majority of stock, which will let him come into the
stock-holders' meetings, and vote into office his own board of
directors, who will do just what he says; and if he wanted to he might
have them vote the entire profits of the concern for his salary."

"But, father, he wouldn't do anything like that," she protested,
shocked.

"No, he probably wouldn't," admitted Mr. Westlake, "but I wouldn't be
wise to let him have the chance, just the same."

"But, father," objected Miss Hallie, after further thought, "it's his
invention, you know, and his process, and if he doesn't have control
couldn't all you other stock-holders get together and appropriate the
profits yourselves?"

Mr. Westlake gave his thumbs one quick turn.

"Yes," he grudgingly confessed. "In fact, it's been done," and there
was a certain grim satisfaction at the corners of his mouth which his
daughter could not interpret, as he thought back over the long list of
absorptions which had made old Bill Westlake the power that he was.

"But--but, father," and she hesitated a long time.

"Yes," he encouraged her.

"Even if you won't let him have enough stock to obtain control, if some
one other person should own enough of the stock, couldn't they put
their stock with his and let him do just about as he liked?"

"Oh, yes," agreed Mr. Westlake without any twirling of his thumbs at
all; "that's been done, too."

"Would this twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of stock that you're
buying, pop, if it were added to what you men are willing to let Mr.
Turner have, give him control?"

Again Mr. Westlake turned his speculative gray eyes upon his daughter
and gave her a long, careful scrutiny, which she