idal for the railroads to move them at the rates legislated by
the government; there were contracts to be let, but no one dared give
them out or accept them because of the shadow which hung gloomily over
every great industry in the shape of governmental paternalism and
interference. Stocks representing property intrinsically valuable
dropped lower and lower in the market, dividends which had been earned
were diverted into surplus as further margin of safety against future
developments, unknown and therefore to be feared. Incomes shrank in some
cases almost to the vanishing-point, while Washington reveled in an orgy
of those good intentions with which they say Hell is paved.

Cosden by this time had come to a full realization of the significance
of Thatcher's warning, and he understood now why the New York operator
had shown so little interest in the attack on the Consolidated Machinery
corporation which had seemed inevitable. In view of conditions as they
had developed, and as Thatcher had foreseen them, no new enterprise
would be launched until opportunity presented itself to take advantage
of its inherent strength. The old-established company need fear no
competition while its own business was dropping off in such alarming
proportions. So Cosden again reduced expenses, still further extended
his bank affiliations, and settled back to meet whatever conditions
might arise, knowing that his sagacity had placed him outside the pale
of those fighting for their existence.

In this latter class was Thatcher. The very success of his varied
interests now made them shining lights to attract the attention of the
authorities in Washington. One by one he saw them attacked, and day by
day he watched the dropping values of the stocks, called on by the banks
to increase his collateral, drawing deeper and deeper into his personal
resources which he had considered ample for any emergency. The strain
was terrific yet the only break he permitted himself was during the week
of his son's graduation.

The question of the summer home gave Thatcher much concern. The heavy
expense of its upkeep made it an item to be considered at this time, yet
he could not bring himself to the point of doing what he knew would be
an act of wisdom. In their town house the Thatchers lived the usual
formal life which belonged to their position, but it was Sagamore Hall
they always meant when they spoke of "home." To relinquish it, even
temporarily, seemed to T