on to success, with a comparatively smooth pathway, is
what he will not do. Floyd Grandon shall purchase his victory at the
highest, hardest rate.

"I may be doubtful," he begins, in a slow, careful tone, which Floyd
knows is no index to his real state of mind, "but that does not say I
am _quite_ despairing. I had the pleasure of working most amicably with
your father and receiving a fair return on my investment. I have had no
dissensions with your brother, who is really my working partner. Your
father was more sanguine of success than I, but I am well aware that if
business men give up at the first shadow of unsuccess, a wreck is
certain. I have no desire to leave the ship. The business suits me. At
my time of life men are not fond of change. What I protest against is,
that if I, with all my years of experience, find it best to go slowly
and with care, you shall not precipitate ruin by your ill-judged
haste."

How much _does_ this man believe? What are his aims and purposes? What
is under the half-concealed contempt and incredulity? If he has
cherished the hope of getting the business into his hands he must feel
assured of success. Floyd Grandon is not a lover of involved or
intricate motives. He takes the shortest road to any point. Fairness,
simplicity, and truth are his prevailing characteristics.

"Do you believe honestly that St. Vincent's idea has any of the
elements of success?" he demands, incisively.

Wilmarth shrugs his shoulders and the useful sneer crosses his face.

"Mr. Grandon," he answers, imperturbably, "I have seen the elements of
success fail from lack of skilful handling."

"You proposed for the hand of Miss St. Vincent," and then Grandon could
bite out his tongue if it would recall the words.

"Yes," with half-contemptuous pity. "He had risked everything on the
success of this, and the poor child would have been left in a sad
plight. Marriage was rather out of my plans."

"And fate happily relieved you," says Grandon, throwing into his face
all the enthusiasm and softness of which he is master. "She did for me
the greatest service; but for her, my days would have been a blank and
desolation. She saved the life of my child, my little girl," and now he
has no need to assume gratitude. "I was a witness myself to the heroic
act, but could not have reached her in time. She was the veriest
stranger to me then, and aroused within my soul emotions of such deep
and rare thankfulness that only the