and
interrupted his conversations with the most important of non-commercial
callers, to make or refuse bargains in shares offered by brokers who
came in. What impulse lay behind this extraordinary devotion to labour?
Toward what conceivable goal could it be striving?

To work hard and risk great things for the possession of a fortune, in
order to enjoy it afterward--he could understand how that attracted
men. But to possess already the biggest of human fortunes, and still
work--that baffled him. He wished he knew some of those men in there,
especially if they belonged to the place. It would be wonderfully
interesting to get at the inner point of view of New Court.

A little later, in Colin Semple's office, he sat down to await the
coming of that gentleman. "Then he doesn't get here so early nowadays?"
he suggested to the head-clerk who, with instant recognition and
exaggerated deference, had ushered him into this furthermost private
room. It pleased him to assume that prosperity had relaxed the
Scotchman's vigilance.

"Oh yes, sir," the clerk replied. "A bit earlier if anything, as a rule.
But I think he is stopping at his solicitors on his way to the City. I
hope you are very well, sir."

"Yes--I'm very fit--thanks," Thorpe said, listlessly, and the other left
him.

Mr. Semple, when at last he arrived, bustled into the room with
unaffected gratification at the news he had heard without. "Well, well,
Thorpe man!" he cried, and shook hands cordially. "This is fine! If
I'd only known you were in town! Why wouldn't you have told me you were
coming? I'd never have kept you waiting."

Thorpe laughed wearily. "I hardly knew I was in town myself. I only ran
up last night. I thought it would amuse me to have a look round--but
things seem as dull as ditchwater."

"Oh no," said Semple, "the autumn is opening verra well indeed. There
are more new companies, and a better public subscription all round, than
for any first week of October I remember. Westralians appear bad on
the face of things, it's true--but don't believe all you hear of them.
There's more than the suspicion of a 'rig' there. Besides, you haven't a
penny in them."

"I wasn't thinking of that," Thorpe told him, with comprehensive
vagueness. "Well, I suppose you're still coining money," he observed,
after a pause.

"Keeping along--keeping along," the broker replied, cheerfully. "I canna
complain." Thorpe looked at him with a meditative frown. "Well, what