had seen Temple in the afternoon, he had
taken in these four shares of stock for debt, at three per cent. below
par, with the fixed purpose of selling them to Temple at three per cent,
above par.

"How many shares did you say there are of it?" asked Temple.

"Four, if I remember right. I really oughtn't to let it slip through my
fingers, but--well, I'll tell you what I'll do--if you care to subscribe
for a few shares of the barrel company--say one or two thousand
dollars' worth--I'll let you have the bank stock at a hundred and three."

Temple was eager to close the bargain, but he resolutely repressed his
eagerness. He asked a score of questions, as if in doubt, and at last he
hesitatingly agreed to make the purchase. The details were to be
arranged on the next day, and so Tandy took his leave, and Temple lay
awake all night, as he had done on the night before.

At four o'clock the next afternoon Temple strolled into the Hallam
office to report results. He threw the papers upon a desk and sank into
a chair like one exhausted. He was in fact almost in a state of
collapse. He had not been conscious of strain at any time during his
negotiations. He had, indeed, rather enjoyed the playing of such a game
of wits with so wily an adversary as Tandy was. But all the while his
anxiety to succeed in what he had undertaken had kept his nerves so
tense that his mind had known no rest. All the time he had been
painfully conscious that the smallest slip on his part, the smallest
indiscretion, the slightest mistake in look, or tone, or act, would
bring failure as a consequence. And he had all the time been agonizingly
conscious of the fact that no less a thing than Guilford Duncan's
reputation was the stake he played for--that Guilford Duncan's entire
future was in his hands. There were reasons more vital to him than his
friendship for Duncan, for regarding success in this matter as an end
that must be achieved at all hazards, and at all costs. For years ago
these two had quarreled as rivals in love, after being friends of the
closest sort from infancy, and only Duncan's great generosity of mind
had made forgiveness and reconciliation possible. Dick Temple knew that
in the matter out of which the quarrel grew, he had grievously wronged
his friend, and that knowledge had been to him a veritable thorn in the
flesh, robbing even such happiness as had come to him of half its
quality of joy. He had longed above all other things for an