d up her hands, and he drew her to her feet.

"You've been awfully dear about the house," she said. And standing on
tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek. Still holding both her hands, he
looked down at her gravely.

"Do you really think that, Natalie?"

"Of course."

"Then--will you do something in return?"

Her eyes became shrewd, watchful.

"Anything in reason."

"Don't, don't, dear, make Graham afraid of me."

"As if I did! If he is afraid of you, it is your own fault"

"Perhaps it is. But I try--good God, Natalie, I do try. He needs a curb
now and then. All boys do. But if we could only agree on it--don't you
see how it is now?" he asked, trying to reason gently with her. "All the
discipline comes from me, all the indulgence from you. And--I don't want
to lose my boy, my dear."

She freed her hands.

"So we couldn't even have one happy evening!" she said. "I won't quarrel
with you, Clay. And I won't be tragic over Graham. If you'll just be
human to him, he'll come out all right."

She went into her bedroom, the heavy lace of her negligee trailing
behind her, and closed the door.

Clayton had a visitor the next morning at the mill, a man named Dunbar,
who marked on his visitors' slip, under the heading of his business with
the head of the concern, the words, "Private and confidential."

Clayton, looking up, saw a small man, in a suit too large for him,
and with ears that projected wide on either side of a shrewd, rather
humorous face.

"Mr. Spencer?"

"Yes. Sit down, please."

Even through the closed window the noise of the mill penetrated. The
yard-engine whistled shrilly. The clatter of motor-trucks, the far away
roar of the furnaces, the immediate vicinity of many typewriters, made a
very bedlam of sound. Mr. Dunbar drew his chair closer, and laid a card
on the desk.

"My credentials," he explained.

Clayton read the card.

"Very well, Mr. Dunbar. What can I do for you?"

Dunbar fixed him with shrewd, light eyes, and bent forward.

"Have you had any trouble in your mill, Mr. Spencer?"

"None whatever."

"Are you taking any measures to prevent trouble?"

"I had expected to. Not that I fear anything, but of course no one can
tell. We have barely commenced to get lined up for our new work."

"May I ask the nature of the precautions?"

Clayton told him, with an uneasy feeling that Mr. Dunbar was finding
them childish and inefficient.

"Exactly," said his visitor. "And well enough a