ppose you drop around to the Club in about twenty minutes," was the
suave suggestion of the man at the other end of the line.

"For a moment," the Guardian's Vice-President agreed hastily. "For a
moment," he repeated, as he replaced the receiver on its hook. It were
much better that he and Mr. Murch be not seen together in public until
the meat was ready for the fire. And so it was the briefest of
interviews that took place between them in the big smoking room. A few
words, concluding with a handshake and a "Congratulate you, Mr.
President," and the incident was closed. Even had the lynx eyes of
Simeon Belknap himself perceived this meeting, he could hardly have
found significance in the episode. And an event in the insurance world
without significance to Mr. Belknap was a rara avis indeed.

Mr. O'Connor betrayed that night, aside from his customary lack of the
refinements of courtesy, the first indication of human weakness that
his household had noted for some time past. For a considerable part of
the night he lay awake, tossing about in his bed until his
long-suffering wife thought he must be ill.

"Is anything the matter?" came her solicitous voice through the dark
doorway. And her husband answered irritably:--

"No. Don't bother about me. I'm all right."

Whether this nocturnal disquiet was the last throe of an expiring sense
of honor and decency, or whether it was ambition burning in the blood,
it is impossible to say. Quite likely it was a little of each. Mr.
Wintermuth had been a good friend to O'Connor; still, a man must needs
look first after his own interest; no one was apt to butter his bread
for him. Sophistry old as the world.

Nevertheless, when morning dawned, the travail of the night had left no
mark on Mr. O'Connor's brow. His wife, accustomed from many years of
sky searching to look for trouble there, saw the unwrinkled expanse and
took heart. Her husband answered her polite morning inquiries with
sufficient attention, although he was palpably preoccupied and in no
mood for casual conversation.

The fact was that his mind was made up and his plan of campaign chosen,
and he was now bending all his thought and energies upon the manner and
details of attack. There was no time to lose, and the iron would never
be hotter than now. Accordingly, when he had disposed of the
accumulation of morning mail at his desk, he walked thoughtfully over
to President Wintermuth's office. In respon