point!"

"Exactly," smiled back Brownwell. He drew from his pocket a diamond
ring. "She will look at it; she will admire it. She will put it on a
chain, but she will not wear it. And so I say, why should I put my
head in a noose here in your bank--what's the use? No, sir, John
Barclay--no, sir. I'm done, sir."

Barclay knew wheedling would not move Brownwell. He was of the mulish
temperament. So Barclay stretched out in his chair, locked his hands
back of his head, and looked at the ceiling through his eyelashes.
After a silence he addressed the cobwebs above him: "Supposing the
case. Would a letter from me to you, setting forth the desperate need
of this accommodation paper, not especially for me, but for Colonel
Culpepper's fortunes and the good name of the Hendricks family--would
that help your cause--a letter that you could show; a letter,"
Barclay said slowly, "asking for this accommodation; a letter that you
could show to--to--well, to the proper parties, let us say,
to-night; would--that kind of a letter help--" Barclay rose suddenly
to an upright position and went on: "Say, Mr. Man, that ought to
pretty nearly fix it. Let's leave both matters open, say for two
hours, and then at ten o'clock or so--you come back here, and I'll
have the note for you to sign--if you care to. How's that?" he asked
as he turned to his desk and reached for a pen.

"Well," replied Brownwell, "I am willing to try."

And so Barclay sat writing for five minutes, while the glow of the
flames died down, and the shadows ceased fighting and were still.

"Read this over," said Barclay at length. "You will see," he added, as
he handed Brownwell the unfolded sheets, "that I have made it clear
that if you refuse to sign our notes, General Hendricks will be
compelled to close the bank, and that the examination which will
follow will send him to prison and jeopardize Bob, who has signed a
lot of improper notes there to cover our transactions, and that in the
crash Colonel Culpepper will lose all he has, including the roof over
his head--if you refuse to help us." ("However," snarled Barclay, at
his conscience, "I've only told the truth; for if you take your money
and go and shut down on the colonel, it would make him a pauper.")

With a flourishing crescendo finale Adrian Brownwell entered the dark
stairway and went down into the street. Barclay turned quickly to his
work as if to avoid meditation. The scratch of his pen and the murmur
of th