he resumed his walk, he heard rapid steps
behind him, and was passed by a man who strongly resembled the
passenger whom he had just met. This figure turned a corner a few rods
in advance of Florian, and almost immediately reemerged; having turned,
apparently, for the purpose of encountering Amidon once more. This
time, he walked up, and halted, facing Amidon.

"You'll be at the office in the morning, I suppose, Mr. Brassfield?"
said the man.

"At the office?" said Amidon. "My office? Yes."

"Well," this new acquaintance proceeded, in tones which indicated a
profound sense of personal injury, "you'd better come prepared to fill
my place in the establishment as soon as possible."

This statement was followed by a pause of the sort usually adopted for
the purpose of noting the effect of some startling utterance. Amidon
was feeling in his pocket for Elizabeth's first-found letter, and the
affairs of the Brassfield Oil Company had little interest for him. Yet
he dimly realized that some one was resigning something.

"Let me see," said he musingly; "what--what do you do?"

The man gave a sort of hop, of the kind we have been taught to expect
of the stag when the bullet strikes him.

"Do?" he snorted. "What do I _do_? What do _I_ do? Do you mean
to---- I'll tell what I do! I get together options for you and send
you cipher telegrams about 'em, and don't get any answers! I attend
stock-holders' meetings and get whipsawed by minorities because you are
dead to the world off there in New York, or the Lord knows where, and
don't furnish me with proxies! I stay here and try to protect your
interests when you desert 'em, and you send some white-headed old
reprobate of a Pinkerton man to shadow me for a week and try to pry
into my work! And when you get home you never show up at the
counting-room, though you know what a pickle things are in; and when I
meet you on the street, I get cut dead: that's what I do! And I stand
it, do I? Ha, ha, ha! Not if J. B. Stevens knows himself, I don't!
Good night, Mr. Brassfield. Come round in the morning, and I'll _show_
you what I do!"

After the speaker had rushed away, which he incontinently did following
this outburst, Amidon's mind reverted to Elizabeth; and not until he
had reached his room did his thoughts return to his encounter in the
street; and then it was only to wonder if this man Stevens was really
of any importance, and if a breach with him was a matter of