in high, austere places, stirred once more
through his relaxed and rusting being.

He thought, aglow like the stove, of the struggle that would follow such a
determination, a struggle with the pink fox, Valentine Simmons. He thought
of himself as an equal with the other; for, if Simmons were practised in
cunning, if Simmons were deep, he, Gordon Makimmon, would have no
necessity for circuitous dealing; his course would be simple,
unmistakable.--He would lend money at, say, three per cent, grant
extensions of time wherever necessary, and knock the bottom out of the
storekeepers' usurious monopoly, drag the farms out of Cannon's grasping
fingers.

"By God!" he exclaimed, erect in the dark; "but Edgar Crandall will get
his apples."

The dog licked his hand, faithful, uncomprehending.

IX

On an afternoon of mid-August Gordon was sitting in the chamber of his
dwelling that had been formerly used as dining room. The table was bare of
the castor and the red cloth, and held an inkpot, pens upright in a glass
of shot, and torn envelopes on an old blotter. An iron safe stood against
the wall at Gordon's back, and above it hung a large calendar, advertising
the Stenton Realty and Trust Company.

A sudden gloom swept over the room, and Gordon rose, proceeded to the
door. A bank of purple cloud swept above the west range, opened in the sky
like a gigantic, menacing fist; the greenery of the valley was overcast,
and a white flash of lightning, accompanied by a shattering peal of
thunder, stabbed viciously at the earth. There was no rain. An edge of
serene light followed in the west a band of saffron radiance that widened
until the cloud had vanished beyond the eastern peaks. The sultry heat lay
like a blanket over Greenstream.

He turned back into the room, but, as he moved, he was aware of a figure
at the porch door. It was a man with a round, freshly-colored
countenance, bland eyes, and a limp mustache, clad in leather boots and a
worn corduroy gunning coat. Gordon nodded familiarly; it was the younger
Entriken from the valley beyond.

"I came to see you about my note," he announced in a facile candor; "I
sh'd take it up this month, but times are terrible bad, Gordon, and I
wondered if you'd give me another extension? There's no real reason why
you sh'd wait again; I reckon I could make her, but it would certainly be
accommodating--" he paused interrogatively.

"Well," Gordon hesitated, "I'm not in a hurry for t