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He was sure of nothing. He lunched at his club, smoked a dismal cigar with Delbridge and some other men, and heard them chatting about the rise and fall of stocks as if they and he were in a turbulent dream. They appeared as marvels to him in their unstumbling blindness under the overbrooding horrors of life, in their ignorance of the dark, psychic current against which he alone was battling.

"He is on top now, but he may drop like a load of bricks any minute. Who can tell?" "Oh, you needn't be jealous of him," Mitchell began, blandly. "He can't crow over you." "Jealous of him!" Mostyn smirked. "I am not jealous of any one, much less Delbridge." "Of course not, of course not," and the old man laid a caressing hand on Mostyn's shoulder.

"Oh, that's all right, then," Delbridge beamed. "Well, Saunders, I'll consider it settled, then. I'll walk into the bank with you now. I may be too busy later in the day." Mostyn moved on. He crossed the viaduct over the railway tracks and walked aimlessly for several squares, bowing to acquaintances on the way.

"Yes, that was foolhardy, and he seemed to me to be going into it blindfolded. He realized the danger afterward. He admitted it to me last night at the club. He said that he was sorry he had not taken my advice. He was afraid, too, that Delbridge would get on to it and laugh at him." "Delbridge is too shrewd to tackle a risk like that," Wright returned.

Was it possible that his imagination had tricked him into believing that he loved the girl and could make actual sacrifices for her? Why, already she was like a figment in some evanescent dream. What had wrought the change? Was it the sight of Delbridge and his mention of Mostyn's financial prowess? Was it the fellow's confident allusion to Mitchell and his daughter?

Delbridge suppressed a glow of triumph in his eyes as he took the certificates into his hands. He spread the crisp sheets out on the desk. "Indorse them while the pen is handy," he suggested. Mostyn dipped the pen and wrote steadily on the backs of the certificates. "That's O. K.," Delbridge mumbled, dropping his cigar into a cuspidor. "Now I'll credit your account with the money.

"No; many things have gone against me recently, but that needn't bother you. You can find a buyer." "I have already found one, and the offer is satisfactory." Saunders glued his glance to the rug at his feet. "In fact, I have been approached more than once, Delbridge wants to buy me out." "Delbridge!" Mostyn started. His lips parted and his teeth showed in a cold grimace. "Ah, I see his game!"

Mitchell had doubled his fortune; Irene was now a richer heiress than ever; Delbridge was in great luck; and a shallow-pated woman, whom Mostyn both feared and despised, was threatening him with exposure. Mitchell, and other men of the old regime, laughed at the follies of youth, it was true, but a public scandal which would cripple business was a different matter in any man's eyes.

"I have no better judgment than any one else Delbridge, for instance, is ahead of me." "Delbridge is lucky," Saunders smiled. "They say he has made another good deal in cotton." "How was that?" Mostyn shrugged his shoulders and stared, his brows lifted. "Futures. I don't know how much he is in, but I judge that it is considerable.

If he had been you'd have mounted those steps three at a time. Do you know everybody is laughing over your interest in Dick Mostyn? Why, you are getting childish about him. I'm not so sure that he is really so wonderful as you make him out. Many persons think Alan Delbridge is a better business man, and as for his being a saint oh my!" "I don't care what they think," Mitchell retorted.