smoke, and made no
comment.

Presently Croyden came to a large, white envelope--darkened on the
interior so as to prevent the contents from being read until opened. It
bore the name of a firm of prominent brokers in Northumberland.

"Humph! Blaxham & Company!" he grunted. "'We own and offer, subject to
prior sale, the following high grade investment bonds.' Oh yes! I'll
take the whole bundle." He drew out the letter and looked at it,
perfunctorily, before sending it to rest with its fellows.--It wasn't
in the usual form.--He opened it, wider.--It was signed by the senior
partner.

"My dear Mr. Croyden:

"We have a customer who is interested in the Virginia Development
Company. He has purchased the Bonds and the stock of Royster &
Axtell, from the bank which held them as collateral. He is
willing to pay you par for your Bonds, without any accrued
interest, however. If you will consent to sell, the Company can
proceed without reorganization but, if you decline, he will
foreclose under the terms of the mortgage. We have suggested the
propriety and the economy to him--since he owns or controls all
the stock--of not purchasing your bonds, and, frankly, have told
him it is worse than bad business to do so. But he refuses to be
advised, insisting that he must be the sole owner, and that he is
willing to submit to the additional expense rather than go
through the tedious proceeding for foreclosure and sale. We are
prepared to honor a sight-draft with the Bonds attached, or to
pay cash on presentation and transfer. We shall be obliged for a
prompt reply.

"Yours very truly,

"R. J. Blaxham."

"What the devil!----"

He read it a second time. No, he wasn't asleep--it was all there,
typewritten and duly signed. Two hundred thousand dollars!--honor sight
draft, or pay cash on presentation and transfer!

"What the devil!" he said, again. Then he passed it across to Macloud.
"Read this aloud, will you,--I want to see if I'm quite sane!"

Macloud was at his favorite occupation--blowing smoke rings through one
another, and watching them spiral upward toward the ceiling.

"I beg your pardon!" he said, as Croyden's words roused him from his
meditation. "I must have been half asleep. What did you say--read it?"
taking the letter.

He and Blaxham had spent considerable time on that letter, trying to
explain t