d, which, with these
men, was the unconquerable, all-absorbing passion. In short,
everything that unscrupulous leaders of organized capital could
devise to squeeze the life blood out of the patient, defenceless
toiler was done within these four walls.

It was a handsome room, noble in proportions and abundantly
lighted by three large and deeply recessed, mullioned windows, one
in the middle of the room and one at either end. The lofty ceiling
was a marvellously fine example of panelled oak of Gothic design,
decorated with gold, and the shelves for books which lined the
walls were likewise of oak, richly carved. In the centre of the
wall facing the windows was a massive and elaborately designed oak
chimney-piece, reaching up to the ceiling, and having in the
middle panel over the mantel a fine three-quarter length portrait
of George Washington. The room was furnished sumptuously yet
quietly, and fully in keeping with the rich collection of classic
and modern authors that filled the bookcases, and in corners here
and there stood pedestals with marble busts of Shakespeare, Goethe
and Voltaire. It was the retreat of a scholar rather than of a man
of affairs.

When Jefferson entered, his father was seated at his desk, a long
black cigar between his lips, giving instructions to Mr. Bagley.
Mr. Ryder looked up quickly as the door opened and the secretary
made a movement forward as if to eject the intruder, no matter who
he might be. They were not accustomed to having people enter the
sanctum of the Colossus so unceremoniously. But when he saw who it
was, Mr. Ryder's stern, set face relaxed and he greeted his son
amiably.

"Why, Jeff, my boy, is that you? Just a moment, until I get rid of
Bagley, and I'll be with you."

Jefferson turned to the book shelves and ran over the titles while
the financier continued his business with the secretary.

"Now, Bagley. Come, quick. What is it?"

He spoke in a rapid, explosive manner, like a man who has only a
few moments to spare before he must rush to catch a train. John
Ryder had been catching trains all his life, and he had seldom
missed one.

"Governor Rice called. He wants an appointment," said Mr. Bagley,
holding out a card.

"I can't see him. Tell him so," came the answer, quick as a flash.
"Who else?" he demanded. "Where's your list?"

Mr. Bagley took from the desk a list of names and read them over.

"General Abbey telephoned. He says you promised--"

"Yes, yes," i