Something is preying on
father's mind," she whispered to De Lancy, the only son and heir to the
Rock fortune. "He didn't sleep a wink last night."

De Lancy scowled. "That doesn't give him any license to take it out on
me," he growled, as he pushed back his chair and lit a cigarette. "When
I tried to interest him in that new racing car, he landed on me all in a
heap and----"

His words were interrupted by the entrance of the maid.

"Some one to see Mr. Rock," she announced.

Rock whirled and hurried toward her. Then he caught a glimpse of the
roughly garbed man who was standing by the desk in his den. Peters had
arrived at last. The anxious lines deepened on Silvanus Rock's forehead
and he made haste to join his visitor.

Mrs. Rock pursed her lips as she noticed the stranger. "I can not
understand why your father persists in having such disreputable-looking
men visit him in his home," she confided to her son.

De Lancy sluffed the cigarette ashes into his coffee cup, before
replying. "Well, whoever the 'low-brow' is, here's hoping he'll put the
old man in a better humor."

In his wish De Lancy was not disappointed. For a short time the visitor
remained closeted with Rock in the capitalist's den. Then Rock escorted
his guest to the door and De Lancy noticed that the old man had opened
up some of his best cigars. It was a good sign.

Silvanus Rock entered the sun-room, all smiles.

"I believe I'll try some of those waffles, mother, if they are still
handy," he exclaimed. "My headache's passed off and I'm feeling quite
myself again." He beamed on his son. "And now, De Lancy, you were
telling me about that new car. It seems to me like a pretty stiff price
but I guess you might as well go ahead and order it."

When the bank president reached his office some time later after a visit
to the Golden Rule Fish Cannery, he greeted his employees with effusive
good-humor. Leaving orders that he was not to be disturbed by any one
except Mr. Peters, he passed into his private office, dropped heavily
into a chair and began to figure. His pudgy fingers trembled about the
pen as he scratched on the pad before him. Then he tore the paper
containing his calculations into little bits, tossed them into the
waste-basket and smiled benignly. His latest business venture had
succeeded far beyond his fondest expectations.

A tap came on his door and Mr. Peters again made his appearance.

Rock surveyed him anxiously. "No mistake I ho