ed the young man back into his chair.
"A lulu must be played quick and the pot raked sudden," he reflected.

"Just a moment, my son. Now you're standing on your own bottom. You
won't have to explain to Mr. Franklin."

He pointed to the clock. His stories had consumed time. The hour was
ten-thirty-five.

"That annual meeting of the Vose line was called for ten of the clock
to-day. Mr. Franklin was alive at that hour. He was the clerk of that
corporation. What happens now will not embarrass you so far as he's
concerned. Be sensible. Make a stroke for yourself. You're out of a job,
anyway. Go to it, now."

Fogg spoke sharply, imperiously. He exerted over the young man all the
force of his personality.

"Five thousand dollars--protected by my interests--slipped out of sight
for a few months--it's easy. Sit down there and make up your records;
vote those proxies. Vote 'em, I say. This meeting was held at ten
o'clock. Make up your records."

He stood over Boyne, arguing, promising, urging, and the young man,
at last, sweating, flushed, trembling, bent over his documents, sorted
them, and made up his records.

"We'll send on a copy to the office of the Vose line by registered
mail," commanded Fogg. "Attest it as a copy of the true record by
notary. When it drops in on 'em I will be there, with my directors and
my little story--and the face of Uncle Vose will be worth looking at,
though his language may not be elevating. You come out with me, Boyne.
I'm going to the telegraph office."

"But I must get in touch at once with Mr. Franklin's family--offer my
services," pleaded the clerk.

"There isn't a thing you can do right now," snapped the masterful
gentleman from New York. "I suggest that you close the office. Send the
girl home. You should do that much out of respect to your employer's
memory."

Ten minutes later the record had been mailed and the flustered Boyne
was trotting around town with Mr. Fogg. The latter seemed to have a
tremendous amount of business on his hands. He hired a cab and was
hustled yon and thither, leaving the young man in the vehicle, with
instructions to stay there, whenever a stop was made. But at last Mr.
Fogg returned from an errand with some very tangible results. He put a
packet of bank-notes into Boyne's shaking hands.

"Did you ever see as much real money before, my son?" asked Fogg,
genially. "That's your five thousand. And here's five hundred toward
that expense money we promise