two Belgian, one German, two French, one English, one Scottish,
and two American.

The only proposals that conformed to the specifications in every
respect were the last named. They were perfect. The Atlantic Bridge
Company, of Newark, New Jersey, offered to do the work as specified
for L1,600,000 sterling. The Patterson Bridge Company, through its
authorized agent, Mr. Henry Hanford, named a price of L1,550,000. The
rest was but a matter of detail.

Having concluded this bald recital, Jackson Wylie, the Second, spread
his hands in a gesture of despair. "I can't understand it," he said,
dolefully. "I thought I had it cinched all the time."

"_You_ had it cinched!" bellowed his father. "_You_! Why, you ruined
it all! Why in hell did you send him over here?"

"I? Send who? What are you talking about?"

"That man with the boots! That lying, thieving scoundrel, Sir Thomas
Drummond, of course."

The younger Wylie's face showed blank, uncomprehending amazement. "Sir
Thomas Drummond was in London all the time I was there. I saw him
daily," said he.

Not until this very moment did the president of the Atlantic Bridge
Company comprehend the trap he had walked into, but now the whole
hideous business became apparent. He had been fooled, swindled, and in
a way to render recourse impossible; nay, in a manner to blacken his
reputation if the story became public. He fell actually ill from the
passion of his rage and not even a long rest from the worries of
business completely cured him. The bitter taste of defeat would not
down. He might never have understood the matter thoroughly had it not
been for a missive he received one day through the mail. It was a bill
from a London shoe-store for twelve pairs of boots, of varying styles,
made out to Henry Hanford, and marked "paid."

Mr. Jackson Wylie, Sr., noted with unspeakable chagrin that the last
word was heavily under-scored in ink, as if by another hand. Hanford's
bill was indeed paid, and with interest to date.

THE CUB REPORTER

Why he chose Buffalo Paul Anderson never knew, unless perhaps it
had more newspapers than Bay City, Michigan, and because his ticket
expired in the vicinity of Buffalo. For that matter, why he should
have given up an easy job as the mate of a tugboat to enter the
tortuous paths of journalism the young man did not know, and, lacking
the introspective faculty, he did not stop to analyze his motives. So
far as he could discover he had felt