table at her side, put out her hand to
the back of a chair, and like the men remained standing.

Temple looked to Blenham, who merely shrugged his thick shoulders and
sipped at his whiskey, as though it had been a light wine and very soft
to an appreciative palate. In some vague way the act was vastly
insolent. Temple appeared uncertain, no uncommon thing with him; then,
going to set his emptied glass down he put an elbow on the mantel,
dropped his head, and spoke in a low, mumbling voice:

"The game? It's what it always was, Terry girl; what it always will
be. The game of the ear of corn and the millstones; the game of the
unfortunate under the iron heel."

"Unfortunate!" cried Terry in disgust. "Pooh!"

"Listen to me," commanded her father. "You ask: What's the game? and
I'm telling you." His head was up now; Terry noted a new look in his
eyes, as he hurried on. "It's just the game of life, after all. The
war of those who have everything against those who have nothing; of men
like Old Hell-Fire Packard against men like me. A game to be won more
often than not through the sheer force of massed money that squeezes
the life out of the under dog--but to be lost when the moneyed fool,
curse him, runs up against a team like Blenham and me!"

"Blenham and you?" she repeated. "You and Blenham? You mean to tell
me that you are chipping in with him?"

Blenham turned his whiskey-glass slowly in his great thick fingers.
His eye shone with its crafty light; his lips were parted a little as
though they held themselves in readiness for a swift interruption if
Temple said the wrong thing or went too far.

"You are prejudiced," said Temple. "You always have been. Just
because Blenham here has represented Packard, and Packard----"

"Is an old thief!" she cried passionately. "And worse! As Packard's
_Man Friday_ Blenham doesn't exactly make a hit with me!"

"Come, come," exclaimed Temple. "Curb your tongue, Teresa, my dear.
If you will only listen----"

"Shoot then and get it over."

Terry sank into her chair, clasped her gauntleted hands about a pair of
plump knees which drew Blenham's gaze approvingly, and set her white
teeth to nibbling impatiently at her under lip as though setting a
command upon it for silence.

"Let's have it, Dad."

"That's sensible," mumbled Temple. "You always were a smart girl,
Teresa, when you cared to be. Let's see; where had I got? Oh, yes;
speaking of Blenham chipping i