pany a
fund to operate successfully.

"If Bill mentions it, you might suggest that he look into the matter a
little more fully before he takes any definite action," Brooks
concluded, rising. "I must get down to the office. It's his own
interests I'm thinking of, as much as my own. Of course, he couldn't
block a reorganization--but we want to satisfy him in every particular,
and, at the same time, carry out these plans. It's a big thing for all
of us. A big thing, I assure you."

He rolled away in his car, and Hazel watched him from the window, a
trifle puzzled. She recalled Bill's remark at luncheon. In the light
of Brooks' explanation, she could see nothing wrong. On the other
hand, she knew Bill Wagstaff was not prone to jump at rash conclusions.
It was largely his habit to give others the benefit of the doubt. If
he objected to certain manipulations of the Free Gold Mining Company,
his objection was likely to be based on substantial grounds. But then,
as Brooks had observed, or, rather, inferred, Bill was not exactly an
expert on finance, and this new deal savored of pure finance--a term
which she had heard Bill scoff at more than once. At any rate, she
hoped nothing disagreeable would come of it.

So she put the whole matter out of her mind. She had an engagement
with a dressmaker, and an invitation to afternoon tea following on
that. She dressed, and went whole-heartedly about her own affairs.

Dinner time was drawing close when she returned home. She sat down by
a window that overlooked the street to watch for Bill. As a general
thing he was promptness personified, and since he was but twenty-four
hours returned from a three months' absence, she felt that he would not
linger--and Granville's business normally ceased at five o'clock.

Six passed. The half-hour chime struck on the mantel clock. Hazel
grew impatient, petulant, aggrieved. Dinner would be served in twenty
minutes. Still there was no sign of him. And for lack of other
occupation she went into the hall and got the evening paper, which the
carrier had just delivered.

A staring headline on the front page stiffened her to scandalized
attention. Straight across the tops of two columns it ran, a facetious
caption:

WILLIAM WAGSTAFF IS A BEAR

Under that the subhead:

Husky Mining Man Tumbles Prices and Brokers. Whips Four men in Broad
Street Office. Slugs Another on Change. His Mighty Fists Subdue
Society's Finest. Fina