s. He comes 'round every day. The clerks give him a
dollar every now and then."

"And he's not dead? And that was Hargus, that wretched, broken--whew! I
don't want to think of it, Sam!" And Jadwin, taken all aback, sat for a
moment speechless.

"Yes, sir," muttered the broker grimly, "that was Hargus."

There was a long silence. Then at last Gretry exclaimed briskly:

"Well, here's what I want to see you about."

He lowered his voice: "You know I've got a correspondent or two at
Paris--all the brokers have--and we make no secret as to who they are.
But I've had an extra man at work over there for the last six months,
very much on the quiet. I don't mind telling you this much--that he's
not the least important member of the United States Legation. Well, now
and then he is supposed to send me what the reporters call "exclusive
news"--that's what I feed him for, and I could run a private steam
yacht on what it costs me. But news I get from him is a day or so in
advance of everybody else. He hasn't sent me anything very important
till this morning. This here just came in."

He picked up a despatch from his desk and read:

"'Utica--headquarters--modification--organic--concomitant--within one
month,' which means," he added, "this. I've just deciphered it," and he
handed Jadwin a slip of paper on which was written:

"Bill providing for heavy import duties on foreign grains certain to be
introduced in French Chamber of Deputies within one month."

"Have you got it?" he demanded of Jadwin, as he took the slip back.
"Won't forget it?" He twisted the paper into a roll and burned it
carefully in the office cuspidor.

"Now," he remarked, "do you come in? It's just the two of us, J., and I
think we can make that Porteous clique look very sick."

"Hum!" murmured Jadwin surprised. "That does give you a twist on the
situation. But to tell the truth, Sam, I had sort of made up my mind to
keep out of speculation since my last little deal. A man gets into this
game, and into it, and into it, and before you know he can't pull
out--and he don't want to. Next he gets his nose scratched, and he hits
back to make up for it, and just hits into the air and loses his
balance--and down he goes. I don't want to make any more money, Sam.
I've got my little pile, and before I get too old I want to have some
fun out of it."

"But lord love you, J.," objected the other, "this ain't speculation.
You can see for yourself how sure it is. I'm