ve,
and so multiplies the extent of the banquet.

"How so?" inquired Vanorden, put on the alert by the significant
intonation of his friend.

"The whole Ranger-Whitney business is coming into court. Ranger, you
know, passed over the other day. He cut his family off with almost
nothing--gave his money to Tecumseh College. The son's engaged us to
attack the will."

"Where do _we_ come in?" asked Vanorden.

Dawson laughed and winked. "I guess your client, old Charley Whitney,
won't miss the chance to intervene in the suit and annex the whole
business, in the scrimmage."

Vanorden nodded. "Oh, I see," said he. "I see! Yes, we'll take a
hand--sure!"

"There won't be much in it for us," continued Dawson. "The boy's got
nothing, and between you and me, Len, the chances are against him. But
you fellows and whoever gets the job of defending the college's rights--"
Dawson opened his arms and made a humorous, huge, in-sweeping gesture.
"And," he added, "Whitney's one of the trustees under the will. See?"

"Thanks, old man." Vanorden was laughing like a shrewd and mischievous
but through-and-through good-natured boy. The two brilliant young leaders
of the Illinois bar shook hands warmly.

And so it came about that Charles Whitney was soon indorsing a plan to
cause, and to profit by, sly confusion--the plan of his able lawyers.
They had for years steered his hardy craft, now under the flag of
peaceful commerce and now under the black banner of the buccaneer. The
best of pilots, they had enabled him to clear many a shoal of bankruptcy,
many a reef of indictment. They served well, for he paid well.

CHAPTER XIII

BUT IS RESCUED

By the time he reached Saint X our young "man of affairs" believed his
conscience soundly converted to his adventure; and, as he drove toward
the house, a final survey of his defenses and justifications satisfied
him that they were impregnable. Nevertheless, as he descended from the
station hack and entered the grounds of the place that in his heart of
heart was all that the word "home" can contain, he felt strangely like a
traitor and a sneak. He kept his manner of composed seriousness, but he
reasoned in vain against those qualms of shame and panic. At the open
front door he dared not lift his eyes lest he should be overwhelmed by
the sight of that colossal figure, with a look in its face that would
force him to see the truth about his thoughts and his acts. The house
seemed deserted;