ugh already. You told me the other day," he went on, "you
could break in anybody who'd stick. You showed me just the kind of work
there is to do. These men I'll guarantee will stick and I think you'll
get quite a jolt when you see what they've been taught to do. They're
not all cripples. I've got some huskies for the strong-arm stuff. And
there is a lot the other fellows can do. I want you to show them how.
You are not taking much of a chance that I can see. You'll get your
money the same as you always have, more if you stick through. And every
dollar we make, you'll have a few cents of it at least. Can you see
anything wrong with that?"

"I don't see where you're going to get off. You seem to think there is a
fortune in this business. I'll tell you there isn't. It's hard sledding
to make both ends meet as it is."

"I know it. Last night I sat up half the night going over the books. I
found my father lost more money on account of labor trouble than from
any other cause."

"Except not being able to get fish," corrected McCoy.

"Exactly. That's labor just the same. Since this idea came to me it's
getting bigger all the time. I'm going to extend it to the boats as well
as the inside. I've got a plan to have Miss Lang take charge of the
fishing end, train my men and run her boats for me on a flat rental and
salary."

McCoy began to show more interest. "Is she in on the deal?" he asked.

"I haven't had a chance to talk with her yet. I'm going to see her
to-day."

McCoy smiled. "I'd like to see Dick's face when you spring the
proposition of having her work for you," he said.

"Suppose she turns me down. Has that anything to do with your working
for me?"

McCoy's face flushed. "Don't know that it has," he admitted, "but----"

The telephone interrupted further conversation and Gregory turned to the
instrument.

"Yes--Mr. Gregory at the phone. All right."

McCoy watched the silent figure as he listened to the message; saw his
jaws set tighter as he replaced the receiver and faced about.

"I'd kind of like to talk this thing over with Blair," McCoy began. "You
see----"

"I just received a telegram from the sanitarium. Mr. Blair died this
morning at nine o'clock."

McCoy crumpled in his chair and rested his head in his hands. "Poor old
John," he muttered brokenly, "I ought to have gone up last night when
they phoned me he was so much worse." He raised his head and there were
tears shining in his eyes. "They did