said Brewster fretfully.

The mayor glanced at him quickly. Something in the voice suggested
that the bank was involved and that the thing was getting on Brewster's
nerves. "I hope you're all right," he answered evenly, "but I'm
carrying more stuff than I like to think of just now."

He departed feeling quite obviously rather balked of his desire for
inside information. Just outside he met Dibbott.

"I saw Mr. Clark just now," said the latter. "He doesn't seem at all
worried. Of course you've heard the news?"

Filmer nodded. "Yes, and I've a feeling we're going to hear more
before long. Haven't got any Consolidated stock have you?"

"Stock! Never owned a share in my life, but I've a good mind to sell
my place now while the price is up. Look at that, will you!"

The street cars coming down from the works were bulging with the
population of Ironville, who had inconsequently decided to take the
holiday in St. Marys. Hundreds of them were dressed in Sunday best and
bent on an outing; big Slovaks and Poles whose horny fists gripped the
platform rail while they smoked cheap cigars with gaudy labels and
chattered volubly to each other. It was good to be out of Ironville.

On the way down they passed Clark, and with boyish abandon waved their
hats in greeting, Clark smiled back and whirled on. The sight of them
provoked the question in his mind and brought it closer. What if these
men were not paid next week, as they were promised? Returning to his
office, he devoted himself to innumerable details affecting the iron
works. To shut them down was not so simple a thing as he anticipated.
They had acquired a momentum it was difficult to arrest. Then, wiring
in code to Philadelphia for his requirements in cash, he went up to the
big house on the hill and shut himself from all intruders.

On the terrace, overlooking river and works, he walked ceaselessly up
and down, irritated but not alarmed. Some foreign substance had got
into the delicate wheels of progress, and the machine was for the
moment out of adjustment. From where he stood the works were visible,
and while he missed the long illumination of the rail mill and the
pyramidal flame of the converters, there still sparkled the pulp mill
with its long, lighted windows and the gleam of water in the tail race.
Twenty-four hours ago he was sitting on the deck of the Evangeline with
the genial bishop. Now he was very much alone. What would Wimperley
and t