." He linked
his arm affectionately in that of the powerful and successful "captain of
industry" whom he had known from boyhood. "I know how devoted you are to
Tecumseh, and how ably you manage practical affairs; and I have not for a
moment lost confidence that you will bring us safely through."

Whitney's face was interesting. There was a certain hangdog look in it,
but there was also a suggestion--very covert--of cynical amusement, as of
a good player's jeer at a blunder by his opponent. His tone, however, was
melancholy, tinged with just resentment, as he said: "Scarborough forgets
how my own personal interest is involved. I don't like to lose two
hundred and odd thousand a year."

"Scarborough meant nothing, I'm sure," said Hargrave soothingly. "He
knows we are all single hearted for the university."

"I don't like to be distrusted," persisted Whitney sadly. Then
brightening: "But you and I understand each other, doctor. And we will
carry the business through. Every man who tries to do anything in this
world must expect to be misunderstood."

"You are mistaken about Scarborough, I know you are," said Hargrave
earnestly.

Whitney listened to Hargrave, finally professed to be reassured; but,
before he left, a strong doubt of Scarborough's judgment had been
implanted by him in the mind of the old doctor. That was easy enough;
for, while Hargrave was too acute a man to give his trust impulsively, he
gave without reserve when he did give--and he believed in Charles
Whitney. The ability absolutely to trust where trust is necessary is as
essential to effective character as is the ability to withhold trust
until its wisdom has been justified; and exceptions only confirm a rule.

Scarborough, feeling that he had been neglecting his trusteeship, now
devoted himself to the Ranger-Whitney Company.

He had long consultations with Howells, and studied the daily and weekly
balance sheets which Howells sent him. In the second month after the
annual meeting he cabled Dory to come home. The entire foundation upon
which Dory was building seemed to be going; Saint X was, therefore, the
place for him, not Europe.

"And there you have all I have been able to find out," concluded
Scarborough, when he had given Dory the last of the facts and figures.
"What do you make of it?"

"There's something wrong--something rotten," replied Dory.

"But where?" inquired Scarborough, who had taken care not to speak or
hint his vague doubts o