phew we leave him to handle the thing and stand by our offers."

"That is precisely what I mean to do. The affair is Derrick's. He must
take his own course," declared Wisbech.

Gordon grinned as he turned to Nasmyth. "There will be no reinforcements.
You have to win your spurs." Then he looked at Wisbech. "If you will
not be offended, sir, I would like to say I'm pleased to notice that
your ideas coincide with mine. He'll be the tougher afterwards if you
let him put up his fight alone."

"The assurance is naturally satisfactory," said Wisbech with quiet
amusement. Then he held up one hand. "It seems to me the person at the
piano is playing exceptionally well."

They sat silent while the crashing opening chords rang out from the
lighted room, and then Nasmyth, who was a lover of music, found
himself listening with a strained attention as the theme stole out of
them, for it chimed with his mood. He had been restless and disturbed
in mind before Gordon had flung his veiled hints at him, and the
reality underlying his comrade's badinage had a further unsettling
effect. He did not know what the music was, but it seemed in keeping
with the throb of the sea against the crag and the fitful wailing of
the pines. There was a suggestion of effort and struggle in it, and,
it seemed to him, something that spoke of a great dominant force
steadily pressing on; and, as he listened, the splash of the sea grew
fainter, and he heard instead the roar of the icy flood and the crash
of mighty trees driving down upon his half-built dam. These were
sounds which sometimes haunted him against his will, and once or twice
he had been a little surprised to find that, now that they were past,
he could look back upon the months of tense effort with a curious,
half-regretful pleasure. He was relieved when the music, that swelled
in a sonorous crescendo, stopped, and he saw Gordon glance at
Wisbech.

"I think that man has understanding and the gift of expressing what he
feels," said Wisbech. "The music suggested something to you?"

"The fast freight," confessed Gordon.--"When she's coming down the big
canyon under a full head of steam. I don't know if that's quite an
elegant simile, in one way. Still, if you care to think how that
track was built, it's not difficult to fancy there's triumph in the
whistles and the roar of the freight-car wheels."

Wisbech made a sign of comprehension, and Gordon looked hard at
Nasmyth. "It's your call."

"I h