ed to sell his
Development shares at a profit, a small profit perhaps, but a profit,
nevertheless.

So, when at that point of their conversation in the lantern room of the
Gould's Bluffs light, Galusha, recognizing his helpless position and the
alternative of buying the Hallett holdings or being exposed to Cousin
Gussie as a sentimental and idiotic spendthrift and to Martha Phipps as
a liar and criminal--when Galusha, facing this alternative, stammered a
willingness to go to Boston and see if he could not dispose of Jethro's
stock as he had Martha's, the captain added an additional clause.

"I won't sell for par," he declared stubbornly. "Julia revealed to me
that I wouldn't, and so I sha'n't. I'll sell for fifty cents a share
extry, but I won't sell for twenty flat. Rather than do that I'll go
to them Cabot folks myself and see if I can't find out who's buyin' and
why. Then I'll go to the real buyers and make the best trade I can with
them. If they really want to get hold of that stock, fifty cents a share
won't stand in their way, I'll bet you."

It did not stand in Galusha's way, either. In his desperate position he
would have paid any amount obtainable rather than have the light keeper
go to Boston on such an errand.

Leaving the clerk's window with his pocket bulging with bank notes, Mr.
Bangs proceeded sadly, but with determination, to the private office
of Mr. Barbour, his cousin's "second secretary." There, producing from
another pocket a huge envelope, portentously daubed and sealed with red
wax, he handed it to Barbour. It contained the two stock certificates,
each signed in blank, Martha's for two hundred and fifty shares, Captain
Jethro's for four hundred. The envelope and the wax he had procured at a
stationer's near the South Station. The obliging salesman had permitted
him to do the sealing on the premises.

"Mr. Barbour," he faltered, "I should like to leave this with you,
if--if quite convenient, that is to say."

Barbour turned the big envelope over.

"Yes, Mr. Bangs, surely," he said, but he looked puzzled. "What is it?"

Galusha blushed and stammered. "Why--why--" he began; "I--ah--you
see--it is--ah--something of mine."

"Something you wish me to take care of?" asked Barbour, still looking at
the envelope.

His caller grasped at the straw.

"Yes--yes, that is it," he said, eagerly. "Dear me, yes. If you will be
so kind."

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Bangs. No trouble at all. I'll put it--"

B