"Mr. Ranger offered a resolution that an assessment of two thousand
dollars be at once laid upon each share of the capital stock, the
proceeds to be expended by the superintendent in betterments. Seconded
by Mr. Scarborough. Unanimously passed."

Whitney reread this very carefully. He laid the letter down and stared at
it. Two thousand dollars a share meant that he, owner of four hundred and
eighty-seven shares, would have to pay in cash nine hundred and
seventy-four thousand dollars. He ordered his private car attached to the
noon express, and at five o'clock he was in Scarborough's library.

"What is the meaning of this assessment?" he demanded, as
Scarborough entered.

"Mr. Ranger explained the situation to us," replied Scarborough. "He
showed us we had to choose between ruin and a complete reorganization
with big improvements and extensions."

"Lunacy, sheer lunacy!" cried Whitney. "A meeting of the board must be
called and the resolution rescinded."

Scarborough simply looked at him, a smile in his eyes.

"I never heard of such an outrage! You ask me to pay an assessment of
nearly a million dollars on stock that is worthless."

"And," replied Scarborough, "at the end of the year we expect to levy
another assessment of a thousand a share."

Whitney had been tramping stormily up and down the room. As Scarborough
uttered those last words he halted. He eyed his tranquil fellow-trustee,
then seated himself, and said, with not a trace of his recent fury: "You
must know, Scarborough, the mills have no future. I hadn't the heart to
say so before Dr. Hargrave. But I supposed you were reading the signs
right. The plain truth is, this is no longer a good location for the
flour industry."

Scarborough waited before replying; when he did speak his tones were
deliberate and suggestive of strong emotion well under control. "True,"
said he, "not just at present. But Judge Beverwick, your friend and
silent partner who sits on the federal bench in this district, is at the
point of death. I shall see to it that his successor is a man with a less
intense prejudice against justice. Thus we may be able to convince some
of your friends in control of the railways that Saint X is as good a
place for mills as any in the country."

Whitney grunted. His face was inscrutable. He paced the length of the
room twice; he stood at the window gazing out at the arbors, at the bees
buzzing contentedly, at the flies darting across the siftin