uarter
that you know of, and your fortune is made. Cheer up and look as though
you realised it."

Dredlinton crossed and uncrossed his legs nervously. His eyes were
bloodshot and his eyelids puffy. Notwithstanding careful grooming, he had
the air of a man running fast to seed.

"I am nervous this morning, Phipps," he confided. "Had a bad night. Every
one I've come across, too, lately, seems to be cursing the B. & I."

"Let them curse," was the equable reply. "We can afford to hear a few
harsh words when we are making money on such a scale."

"Yes, but how long is it going to last?" Dredlinton asked fretfully. "Did
you see the questions that were asked in the House yesterday?"

Phipps leaned back in his chair and laughed quietly.

"Questions? Yes! Who cares about them? Believe me, Dredlinton, our
Government has one golden rule. It never interferes with private
enterprise. I don't know whether you realise it, but since the war there
is more elasticity about trading methods than there was before. The worst
that could happen to us might be that they appointed a commission to
investigate our business methods. Well, they'd find it uncommonly hard to
get at the bottom of them, and by the time they were in a position to
make a report, the whole thing would be over."

"It's making us damned unpopular," Dredlinton grumbled.

"For the moment," the other agreed, "but remember this. There was never
such a thing as an unpopular millionaire known in history, so long as he
chose to spend his money."

Dredlinton drew a letter from his pocket and handed it across the table.

"Read that," he invited. "It's the fifth I've had within the last
two days."

Phipps glanced at the beginning and the end, and threw it
carelessly back.

"Pooh! A threatening letter!" he exclaimed. "Why, I had a dozen of those
this morning. My secretary is making a scrapbook of them."

"That one of mine seems pretty definite, doesn't it?" Dredlinton remarked
nervously.

"Some of mine were uncommonly plain-spoken," Phipps acknowledged, "but
what's the odds? You're not a coward, Dredlinton; neither am I. Neither
is Skinflint Martin, nor Stanley. Chuck letters like that on the fire, as
they have, and keep cheerful. The streets of London are the safest place
in the world. No cable from your friend in New York yet?"

"Not a word," Dredlinton answered. "I expected it last night. You haven't
forgotten that Wingate's due here this morning--that is, if he ke