take you into my business.--I'll give you the best chance you ever had.
You've found your health; come back and keep it. Don't you long for the
fight, for your finger at somebody's neck? That's what I felt when I was
your age, and I did it, and I'm doing it, but I can't do it as I used
to. My veins are leaking somewhere." A strange, sad, faded look came
into his eyes. "I don't want my business to be broken by Belloc," he
added. "Come and help me save it."

"By gosh, I will!" said the young man after a moment, with a sudden
thirst in his throat and bite to his teeth. "By gum, yes, I'll go with
you."

CHAPTER VII. "AT OUR PRICE?"

West of the city of Montreal were the works and the offices of John
Grier. Here it was that a thing was done without which there might have
been no real story to tell. It was a night which marked the close of the
financial year of the firm.

Upon John Grier had come Carnac. He had brought with him a small statue
of a riverman with flannel shirt, scarf about the waist, thick defiant
trousers and well-weaponed boots. It was a real figure of the river,
buoyant, daring, almost vicious. The head was bare; there were plain
gold rings in the ears; and the stark, half-malevolent eyes looked out,
as though searching for a jam of logs or some peril of the river. In the
horny right hand was a defiant pike-pole, its handle thrust forward, its
steel spike stabbing the ground.

At first glance, Carnac saw that John Grier was getting worn and old.
The eyes were not so flashing as they once were; the lips were curled
in a half-cynical mood. The old look of activity was fading; something
vital had struck soul and body. He had had a great year. He had fought
Belloc and his son Fabian successfully; he had laid new plans and
strengthened his position.

Tarboe coming into the business had made all the difference to him.
Tarboe had imagination, skill and decision, he seldom lost his temper;
he kept a strong hand upon himself. His control of men was marvellous;
his knowledge of finance was instinctive; his capacity for organization
was rare, and he had health unbounded and serene. It was hard to tell
what were the principles controlling Tarboe--there was always an element
of suspicion in his brown and brilliant eyes. Yet he loved work. The
wind of energy seemed to blow through his careless hair. His hands were
like iron and steel; his lips were quick and friendly, or ruthless,
as seemed needed. To John