missed. None the less, the president attempted to carry it off lightly.

"What do you think of this, Vincent?" he said, turning to his son. "Here
is Tom Gordon--our Tom--talking wildly about investigations and arrests,
and I don't know what all. Shall we give him his breakfast and send him
back to school?"

Tom cut in quickly before Vincent could make a reply.

"If you're sparring to gain time, it's no use, Mr. Farley. I mean what I
say, and I'm dead in earnest." Then he tried another long shot: "I tell
you right now we've had this thing cocked and primed ever since we found
out what you and Vincent meant to do. You must turn over the control of
Chiawassee Consolidated, legally and formally, to my father before you
go aboard the _Baltic_, or--_you don't go aboard_!"

"Let me understand," said the treasurer, cutting in. "Are you accusing
us of crime?"

"You will find out what the accusation is, later on," said Tom, taking
yet another cartridge from the long-range box. "What I want now is a
plain, straightforward yes or no, if either of you is capable of saying
it."

The president took his son aside.

"Do you suppose Dyckman has been talking too much?" he asked hurriedly.

Vincent shook his head.

"You can't tell ... it looks a little rocky. Of course, we had a right
to do as we pleased with our own, but we don't want to have an
unfriendly construction put on things."

"But they can't do anything!" protested the president. "Why, I'd be
perfectly willing to turn over my private papers, if they were asked
for!"

"Yes, of course. But there would be misconstruction. There is that
contract with the combination, for example; we had a right to manipulate
things so we'd have to close down, and it might not transpire that we
made money by doing it. But, on the other hand, it might leak out, and
there'd be no end of a row. Then there is another thing: there is
somebody behind this who is bigger than the old soldier or this young
foot-ball tough. It's too nicely timed."

"But, heavens and earth! you wouldn't turn the property over to Gordon,
would you?"

The younger man's smile was a mere contortion of the lips. "It's a
sucked orange," he said. "Let the old man have it. He may work a miracle
of some sort and pull out alive. I should call it a snap, and take him
up too quick. If he wins out, so much the better for all concerned. If
he doesn't, why, we left the property entirely in his hands, and he
smashed it. Don'