Mr. James Wintermuth had just finished a luncheon of such unusual proportions that evidently it had attracted the respectful attention of the Down Town Association's waiter who usually served him, and who of late had grown almost to despair of being able ever again to bring his client anything more substantial than a half portion of crab-flake salad.

"Nice day, sir," the waiter suggestively remarked, as if Mr. Wintermuth's appetite were in some curious way governed wholly by the vagaries of the weather.

"Yes," agreed his patron, with almost a touch of embarrassment; "a very nice day, indeed."

Mr. Wintermuth was feeling uncommonly cheerful, and the cause of it was quite largely the oblong yellow missive then reposing on his desk. He knew he would have to wait a day or two before he could learn the details of Smith's doings in Boston, but it was at least a relief to feel that some decisive action was being taken.

When, two days later, Smith returned, his report seemed eminently satisfactory to his chief.

"I'm not a lawyer, so I can't tell you exactly what kind of court proceedings will have to be brought," he said; "but so far as I can make out it's a sort of action for conspiracy against the companies belonging to the Eastern Conference, joining them all as defendants. The Insurance Commissioner of Massachusetts comes in, too, in some way, and I believe that under the state law as recently amended we will finally win out."

"Finally!" said the President. "That sounds rather remote. How long do you expect it will take? Protracted litigation is both expensive and unsatisfactory."

"Oh, it won't cost us anything; the Insurance Commissioner nominally brings the suit, as I understand it, and I'm sure it won't take more than a year. But in the meantime I feel positive that we will suffer no further annoyance or injury in New England. We've already lost about all the agents that could be shaken loose, and with this suit pending I fancy the Conference will go very slow before forcing the issue further—for fear of civil actions for damages from all the non-Conference companies if we win our conspiracy case."

"That sounds reasonable."

"It is. So I really think we need not worry much about New England for a while. I fancy I managed to stiffen up the backbone of Crowell, who's a first-class field man, and I'm going to circularize the local agents, telling them the facts."

Mr. Wintermuth looked at Smith thoughtfully.

"All right, Richard; go ahead," he said. "I am quite content to leave it in your hands."

"Now for New York," pursued Smith, inclining his head in acknowledgment of his superior's commendation. "In New York State we shall have to accomplish our purpose mainly by means of bluffing, to put it plainly, for I can't find any law that covers the point; but perhaps we won't need a law. Mr. Ferguson, the Superintendent of Insurance, is, as you know, not unalterably opposed to being nominated for Governor this fall. He has listened before now to the siren voice, and Albany seems very attractive to him. And this is an anti-combination year. I don't think he'll need much persuasion to be convinced that much credit and capital will be gained by a spirited attack on something that more than faintly resembles a trust."

"That correctly describes the Eastern Conference, in its present activities," said Mr. Wintermuth. "But what do you expect Mr. Ferguson to do?"

"Oh, I haven't any idea," said his subordinate, with a smile. "He hasn't any law on his side; but as you are aware, his office carries with it very arbitrary and radical powers, and if he thinks that he can climb into the Governor's chair over the prostrate body of the Eastern Conference, he'll find some excuse to sandbag it and make it a stepping stone. He'll do something all right, or I miss my guess."

"Probably you are right, Richard."

"The next thing I do will be to go up to see him and talk it over. New York's an important factor with us to-day. With a little watching Pennsylvania and Maryland will take care of themselves. New England is safe to hold its own, I think. I believe we've covered the high spots, sir."

"How long have you been Vice-President of the Guardian, Mr. Smith, if I may ask?" inquired the head of the institution in a tone of affectionate raillery mixed with genuine pride.

"Oh, about a week," said Smith, laughing; "but I've been sitting around so long, spoiling for a chance to do something, that there's several months' stored-up energy which I've got to get out of my system."

"Well, I hope you get around to the local department pretty soon," said Mr. Wintermuth. "Poor Cuyler has worried himself nearly sick, and the city business has been hit very hard; premiums are away off for the year so far."

"Yes; I want to talk that over with you, too. But I think Mr. Ferguson comes first."

"Very well, Richard; use your own judgment," said his chief. "So far,
I think you have done good work for us."

"I'm glad you're satisfied, and I'll try to keep it up, I assure you," said Smith. He hesitated a moment. "But there is one phase of all this thing which I haven't forgotten and which I don't think you have, either, and that is how we came originally to be dragged out of the Conference and exposed to all these attacks."

"I have not forgotten it," said Mr. Wintermuth, stiffly; "but I think there can be no advantage in discussing it."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I do not agree with you in that—and for this reason," rejoined the other. "Just one man is responsible for most of our trouble. He caused us to resign from the Conference, he tried to steal our agents and our business when we were out and succeeded in some pretty important cases, he got our branch manager away from us, and alienated some of our best local brokers, and—I have no proof of this last and perhaps I should not discredit my predecessor—but I can't help feeling that he induced some mutual friends of yours and his to suggest Mr. Gunterson's name to you."

"No," said the President, shaking his head. "The man who mentioned Gunterson to me is a real friend of mine—it was merely his judgment that was at fault."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," the other responded. "But the point is this: is O'Connor likely to stop now? That's what we've got to consider."

"It is no particular concern of mine what Mr. O'Connor does or where he stops," said the President, with magnificent but impractical dignity.

"Well, it is of mine," Smith retorted, "because I want to know what he's going to do next. O'Connor has played several very shabby tricks on you and on the Guardian—things that must, even in his own eyes, seem discreditable. The fact that we know what a rascal he is doesn't help us much if we just sit here with our hands folded. And the fact that at last we have begun to defend ourselves will not endear us to him the more—on the contrary it will make him even more vicious toward us. No, he won't stop where he is; we shall hear from him again."

Smith was possibly correct in his conclusion; but for the moment all was very quiet along the Salamander battle front—if battle front it were. So he went off to interview the vigilant and ambitious Ferguson; and for four days the home office saw him no more.

In the many years during which the Guardian had conducted its sane and conservative business life, it had gathered into its grasp a great many desirable adjuncts and aids to the smooth and proper operation of a first-class fire insurance company. Its agency plant, while not one of the largest, was second to none in the character and ability of the agents themselves; its force of office and field men was adequate; even its stationery was simple and dignified and well adapted to the ordinary uses of the management.

Perhaps at no time had Mr. Wintermuth's good fortune served him better than when he secured the Guardian's principal reinsurance treaty. Nearly every large company has contracts with one or more reinsurance companies, usually foreign, and whenever an agent writes a policy for a greater amount than his company thinks it prudent to hazard on the risk in question, it cedes to one or more of these reinsurers such a proportion of the risk as it feels disinclined to retain, paying to the reinsurers an equal proportion of the original premium. The larger the policies a company is willing to write, the higher the esteem in which it is held by its agents, as a rule; and the Guardian had always, thanks to the excellent reinsurance facilities it enjoyed, been able to take care of very liberal lines on all acceptable classes of business. Moreover, since the treaty company paid the Guardian for its proportion of the premium a higher rate of commission than the Guardian paid the agent who wrote the risk, the transaction was profitable to the Guardian. The reinsurance company could afford to pay the higher commission, because it had no expensive agency plant to maintain, it did not need conspicuous offices, it employed no field men or inspectors, and in fact, except for the inevitable losses, this commission paid for the business was its only important expense.

Mr. Wintermuth had, in the mist of years past, discovered on one of his trips abroad a reinsurance company rejoicing in the name of the Karlsruhe Feuer RÜckversicherungs Gesellschaft, or more briefly, the Karlsruhe Reinsurance Company. With the managing director of this worthy institution he had taken the unspeakable waters at an almost obsolete German spa, and although the waters did him no good, the reinsurance treaty that he incidentally arranged with Mr. August Schroeder made a very satisfactory termination of the treatment. It was a masterly contract—for Mr. Wintermuth—and its acceptance by Mr. Schroeder only showed that his experience with American business was very limited or that the waters had sapped his vitality to a degree more than was perceptible. It allowed the Guardian to do almost everything it pleased, restricted it not at all, never protested any action however unexpected, waived every possible right and privilege, paid a liberal commission and a share of the profits besides—in short, it was an ideal treaty and one which was the admiration of those few privileged characters who knew its merits. Nevertheless it had also proved to be a good contract for the Karlsruhe, for such business as the Guardian ceded had paid a modest but unfailing return to its Teutonic connection year after peaceful year.

One can therefore only faintly conjecture Mr. Wintermuth's surprise and genuine anguish upon receiving, one bright April morning, a communication in German, which, being translated by Mr. Otto Bartels with something more than his customary stolidity, proved to read, stripped of all superfluous verbiage, substantially as follows:

"The managing director of the Karlsruhe, in accordance with the conditions of the contract, hereby gives six months' notice of the termination of the reinsurance arrangements now existing between the Karlsruhe and the Guardian."

When, the following day, Smith returned, Mr. Wintermuth's first greeting was silently to hand him this letter. The younger man, with a little assistance from the President's recollection of Bartels's translation, managed to decipher the tangled German, and sat for a long minute without speaking.

"Why do you suppose they're canceling? And why didn't we get this through their London managers, I wonder?—they're the people we've done business with for the last ten years," he said at length.

"What difference does it make?"

"None, perhaps. Still, it strikes me as rather odd. Almost as though some one had planned that this should look as though it emanated from a point less in touch with William Street than London is."

"Then you think—?"

"Who else could it be but O'Connor? And these German underwriters are perfect babes in the wood—they're just idiotic enough to cancel a profitable contract merely to take on an experimental one with a bigger premium income in its place. Now, nobody outside the office knew the conditions of our contract with the Karlsruhe—except O'Connor. No, there's no question about it. He probably offered them a little better commission arrangement and a bigger business—and they fell for it."

"Very likely that is so," agreed Mr. Wintermuth.

"The only question now is: what can we do?" Smith continued.

"Schroeder has been dead six years. And I don't know the present managing director at all; I've never even seen this man that signed the letter."

"It would have done us no good if you had known him," said the younger man, slowly. "This is a cut and dried affair. All we can do now is to look for another treaty. We must try to get a contract as good as the one we have with the Karlsruhe."

"I'm afraid we can never do it," the President responded.

"Perhaps not—and again, perhaps we can. Still, I admit it won't be easy." He fell thoughtfully silent.

"Cuyler tells me he's lost another broker—Spencer and Carrick have begun to drop their expirations with us," remarked Mr. Wintermuth, with an irrelevance that was more apparent than real.

"Does he think the Salamander's getting them?" Smith inquired, his eyes narrowing.

The older man nodded.

The other rose from his chair.

"I think," he said deliberately, "that I will go and see Mr. F. Mills O'Connor. I will give him just one chance to let up in this campaign of his and restrict his energies to ordinary business competition; and then, if he refuses, I will ask you and the other directors of the Guardian to let me open things up and fight him on his own ground, if it costs us every dollar of prospective profit for the next three years."

Mr. Wintermuth's face assumed an expression of manifest concern.

"Don't be hasty, Richard," he said quickly; "the fault with all you younger men is that you're apt to go too fast. I myself have confidence in you, you understand, but I don't know that I could promise the support of the directors for any campaign of reprisals. I'm afraid the idea of spending three years' prospective profit wouldn't strike them with any degree of favor."

His perturbation was so sincere that Smith turned back in the doorway to reassure him.

"Well, don't worry," he said lightly. "Probably my remarks will so abash Mr. O'Connor that he will immediately promise to be good. I guess I'll try it on, anyway."

Fresh in his determination, he went straight to the Salamander office, and it was but a moment later that he found himself confronting the man he had come to see.

"Mr. Smith, I believe," said O'Connor, neutrally. "Won't you sit down?"

"Mr. O'Connor, I feel quite sure," said the other, taking the proffered seat.

"Yes. And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?" responded the President of the Salamander, swinging around in his chair to face his visitor.

"If I can take up a few minutes of your time, there are quite a number of things I'd like to say, and a few that with your permission I will."

O'Connor waved his hand for the desired assent.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Mr. O'Connor," said Smith, "you owe your position in the fire insurance world to the Guardian of New York more than to any one other influence, and your recent acts seem to show that you've forgotten your obligation. You committed the Guardian to withdrawing from the Eastern Conference, for one thing, and after the company got out, you took advantage of its position to raid its agency plant for the benefit of the Salamander."

"That's most of it nonsense—but what if I did?" asked O'Connor, curtly.

"I am merely here to ask your personal assurance that from now on you will discontinue your active efforts directed especially against my company."

The other man looked at him.

"That's cool enough, I'm sure. And what'll you do if I don't grant your surprising request?"

"If you do not, the Guardian will be obliged to take such steps to meet you as seem advisable. So far we've been entirely on the defensive; but we are going to protect our interests, and if the best way to protect them necessitates a complete change of tactics from the defensive to the aggressive, we shall make that change. And if we do, I give you warning that we can make things unpleasantly interesting for you and your company."

O'Connor laughed, toying with a pencil.

"We don't want to be forced to attack you," Smith continued, "and I admit we would far rather not; but I warn you that if we are unfairly injured, the man responsible will be held personally liable. You understand what 'personally liable' means, don't you?"

The President of the Salamander did not reply for a moment, but Smith saw a flush come into his face when he answered.

"Pshaw! you're talking of things you know nothing about. I haven't injured your company—you've done it yourselves. If you don't like it, being outside the Conference, why in the devil don't you go back? I'll propose the Guardian for membership, myself, and you'll be reinstated within two weeks. I haven't done anything that any business man wouldn't have done. Some agents have decided that they'd rather represent the Salamander than the Guardian; in my opinion that's only the exercise of good judgment. If people prefer to give risks to us rather than you, they've a right to exercise the privilege of their choice. My feeling toward the Guardian is exactly what it has always been. If Mr. Wintermuth thinks he's been unfairly treated or that he has a grievance against me, let him come to me with it himself, and I will be glad to show him that he is wrong. But I don't care to go into the matter any further with any one else."

"That is your answer, then?" Smith asked.

"Yes—it is," the other responded shortly.

Smith turned to the door.

"Sure you've nothing further to add?" he asked, his hand on the knob.

"Nothing whatever," said the President of the Salamander, and he turned back to his desk.

"I'm afraid we'll have to fight," Smith reported to his chief. "O'Connor says," he added, with legitimate malice, "that if you imagine you have a grievance and will come to the office of the Salamander, he will graciously consent to give you a hearing."

Mr. Wintermuth looked up, and a flash of his pristine shrewdness gleamed in his eye.

"You're saying that—putting it that way to get me into a controversy with the Salamander people, Richard," he said.

"Yes," admitted Smith, honestly; "but I wouldn't do it if I didn't believe that eventually we'll have to fight that man on his own ground, and beat him, too, before he'll leave us alone to conduct our business."

"Perhaps that is so."

"Then you'll let me close in on him when it becomes necessary?" the other persisted.

"Possibly," said Mr. Wintermuth, cautiously; and more he would not say.

During the next few days Smith found himself a very busy man. There were a thousand and one matters demanding his attention, for in the three months' regime of his predecessor many things had come to loose ends. All through Conference territory agents had to be reassured; there were certain legal preparations to be made; definite instructions for a new plan of campaign had to be given to field men and office force. Smith found very little time to consider the two questions which most interested him—of which one was the next probable move of O'Connor and the other the securing of a new reinsurance contract.

To be sure this latter task was officially assumed by Mr. Wintermuth, but Smith felt reasonably certain that ultimately he himself would have to find the treaty. And this would not be an easy task, unless he should resort to the obvious and fashionable method of consulting Mr. Simeon Belknap and abiding by his selection on his own terms; and since the market was limited and Mr. Belknap's facilities in these delicate and complicated matters were unique, his services naturally were not cheaply held. Smith, with youthful self-confidence, decided that he himself would make a preliminary canvass of the reinsurance market; and so, when the first rush of new duties had abated, and his legal affairs were safely in the hands of counsel, and the interrupted agency machine of the Guardian was beginning to turn normally once more, he undertook this matter of a new reinsurance contract with all the energy at his command.

The one man in New York, aside from the eminent Mr. Belknap, who was the most powerful figure in reinsurance affairs and who best understood the situation on both sides of the Atlantic, was a solid, silent, almost venerable Teuton by the name of Scheidle. Mr. Scheidle occupied an anomalous position, but one of absolute authority, since he had been for many years the United States Manager of no less than three of the largest foreign reinsurance companies. He was unsociable, apparently uninterested in anybody save possibly himself, and disinclined to be lured by any call or beckoning whatsoever from his William Street office. An outsider would have said that most of his time was employed in crossing the ocean, for it seemed as though the Journal of Commerce reported every few days either his arrival or departure. Perhaps he reserved his loquacity for his native land, but at all events he exchanged in New York no converse with any one save in the strictest necessities of business; he had no intimates except a few anonymous Teutons as difficult of access as himself. He positively declined to make new friends, and it was evident that he had all the friends he desired to have; and in the same way he declined to consider any new business proposals, as all his companies were long established and all were in possession from numerous treaty contracts of premium incomes sufficiently large to satisfy their conservative manager.

This was the man that Smith, after careful deliberation, set himself to ensnare. But unfortunately, the more extended became his researches, the more impregnable appeared the cloudy barriers which Mr. Scheidle had raised between himself and the English-speaking world. At the end of a week of consistent effort Smith found himself precisely where he was when he began.

And then, just as his chances of success seemed faintest, the whole scroll suddenly unrolled itself before him. A chance inquiry of Mr. Otto Bartels provoked an answer of gutturals not especially euphonious in themselves, but which fell with vast and soothing solace on Smith's troubled sense.

"Sure do I know him," said Mr. Bartels. "Except when he goes to
Germany, with him I play pinochle on Tuesdays always."

Smith surveyed him, speechless.

"To-day is Tuesday," he said at last. And for the next half hour he proceeded to explain to Mr. Bartels exactly what it was that Mr. Scheidle now had a chance to do for his old friend with whom for so many years he had played his nocturnal pinochle on Tuesdays always.

"You'd have saved me a lot of trouble if you'd ever said you knew
Scheidle," Smith remarked after the explanation was concluded.

"I would have said if any had asked," replied Mr. Bartels, simply. However, the same commendable reticence being a characteristic of all his human relations, there really was no cause for Smith's criticism.

Mr. Bartels, moreover, now that he knew what he was expected to do and had his duty set plain before his methodical feet, advanced along the desired way in a most encouraging manner, and with considerable celerity. So successful was he in his negotiations with Mr. Scheidle that not long afterward he was able to bring Smith the most welcome of tidings.

"He says that one of his companies has a treaty with the Majestic of Cincinnati, and he has lost money by it. The Majestic gives him bad business. He will perhaps cancel this contract, and that leaves a place for another."

"The next time I want anything, I'll come to you first," said Smith, cheerfully. "Now I'll go and see the chief and ease his mind—and also find out what terms he is willing to make with Scheidle."

Mr. Wintermuth proved to be no stickler for terms; his anxiety to replace the lost treaty was too great. And Mr. Scheidle, after analyzing and studying the results of the business which the Guardian had ceded to the Karlsruhe, made a very fair offer. And so the Imperial Reinsurance Company of Stettin, with assets nearly twice as great as the once lamented Karlsruhe, agreed to pay as much commission to the Guardian as the Karlsruhe paid, on an almost equally liberal form of agreement.

It was only a short time after this matter had been so satisfactorily arranged that Smith met one morning at the office door the gloomy face of the once optimistic and combative Cuyler. The mind of the young Vice-President had been so cheerfully inclined by the events of the last fortnight that he had almost forgotten there still was depression in the world.

"For heaven's sake!" he said, stopping the disconsolate one, "you don't mean to say that you start in a pleasant day feeling the way you look?"

"Yes, of course I do, and why shouldn't I?" returned the misanthrope. "Business all shot to pieces; the only chance of getting back the brokers we've lost is to open up a little and fire off a few roman candles, and the old man won't let me do that; and no sign of a good branch manager. What more do you want?"

He eyed Smith so hostilely that the younger man, for all his regard for the veteran, felt inclined to laugh.

"Well, that sounds pretty bad," he agreed; "but absolutely nothing warrants a face as sad as yours. Those are simply a number of misfortunes that may be overcome, but your face implies a regular catastrophe. I don't see how a broker dares to tackle you; I wouldn't, if I were a broker."

"Oh, it's all very well to be cheerful, if you can," retorted the other, gloomily; "but I've been a good many years building up this local business, and I admit I can't take much enjoyment in watching it float out the door and disappear down the street."

"No, one would hardly expect you to," Smith conceded. "But cheer up, just a little. I've been waiting for the directors' meeting to tackle the local situation, and you know they meet to-day."

This was the first directors' meeting since that at which Smith had been chosen Vice-President. Had there been in the minds of those who had voted for him any doubt of his dynamic force and ability to cope with the situation before him, that doubt must have been dispelled by the brief but satisfactory report upon what had been done, presented to them by Mr. Wintermuth. Upon the conclusion of this there was a pause, and Mr. Whitehill spoke.

"That's a good statement, and I think our Vice-president is to be congratulated on taking hold of things in such an energetic and business-like way. We shall of course ratify the action Mr. Smith has taken on these matters; and now I want to ask Mr. Smith what he thinks our prospects are and what he has in mind for the immediate future."

There were two things Smith wanted, neither of which could he get alone and unaided; and accordingly he went to the point with the utmost directness.

"I believe that we have passed a kind of crisis and that things are fairly well started, gentlemen," he said. "I see no reason why the Guardian should not go on and continue to be the successful underwriting institution it has always been, and certainly I shall try my hardest to make it so. I am very much obliged to Mr. Whitehill for his expression of confidence in me. Now, there are two things which you gentlemen can give me and for which I ask you to-day. One is authority to double our liability on Manhattan Island, and the other is an uptown branch manager."

Smith stopped, glancing at Mr. Wintermuth and rather apprehensive of the reply he might receive. But all that gentleman answered was:—

"We've always tried to keep down our liability in Manhattan—especially in the lower end, between Chambers and Twenty-third Street."

"Yes," said Smith; "and I believe, sir, we've kept it down too far. In the last ten years the construction has been greatly improved, a high pressure water supply has been introduced, the fire department is bigger and more efficient, and yet our liability is very little greater in the dry goods district, for example, than it was ten years ago."

"That's true," the President agreed. He turned to the other directors. "I think perhaps that in our city business we may have been a little too conservative, but I have always preferred to err on that side, if I erred at all. I should not oppose a rather more liberal policy in New York."

"Thank you," Smith replied. "Mr. Cuyler and I will take care that the company does not get involved for dangerous amounts in any well defined district, and I hope that the larger part of our increased business will be uptown. And it will, if we can secure the right branch manager."

"But how can we help you there?" another director asked. "None of us is familiar with insurance conditions."

"I thought," the other said, "that some of you might have influence with some of the better uptown agencies. The competition for that class of business is tremendous. Mr. Wintermuth, Mr. Cuyler, and I all know most of these people, but a mere acquaintance is nothing—to get into a first-rate office and get their best business means that you've got to have a strangle hold on the agent—nothing less will do."

Mr. Whitehill leaned back in his chair.

"I don't know exactly what constitutes a strangle hold," he said with a smile; "but there's one firm up town that handles all my trustee business, and I think they would hardly like to disoblige me. I fancy the commissions on it must amount to rather a handsome amount, year in and year out. And I think they must have an agency, because once or twice I've noticed their name signed to policies they've sent me."

"Who are they?" another director asked. "Perhaps Mr. Wintermuth or Mr.
Smith may know them."

"Evans and Jones," replied Mr. Whitehill.

The President and his young subordinate looked at one another. Even Mr. Wintermuth, who for some years past had given little attention to the details of the local business, knew that the firm in question was one of high standing.

"Of One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street?" Smith asked.

"Yes. You know them? They have an agency, then?" Mr. Whitehill responded.

"They certainly have," replied the other. "They are as desirable agents as there are up town, and they represent the Essex of England, the Austrian National, and," he glanced at his chief, "the Salamander of New York."

Mr. Wintermuth found no words.

"Now, Mr. Whitehill," said Smith, "they are the people we want as branch managers. Our interests would be safe in their hands. But to take us and do us justice they would probably have to resign one of the companies they now represent. Do you think your influence with them is sufficient to get them to do that?"'

Mr. Whitehill smiled somewhat grimly.

"My boy," he said, "I don't like to extol my personal influence; but if I asked Evans and Jones anything within the bounds of reason and they declined to do it, I admit that I should be surprised—very much surprised."

This was the reason why, on a busy corner of the Street, only a week later, two men came to a stop face to face, the elder regarding the younger with a malignity that was indifferently concealed.

"Well, how's the boy underwriter?" said a sneering voice. "You think you turned a pretty trick when you took my branch manager, eh?"

"I told you we'd have to get back at you," the other replied. "But," he added, "I should hardly think it would be a subject you'd care to discuss."

The blood came into the face of the first speaker.

"Well, I do, just the same," he said; "and I want to tell you that you've gone too far. You've made a personal matter of ordinary competition. All right—have it as you like. But you take it from me, this fight's just started, and I'm going to see it through, and I'll get you and your Guardian yet."

"Is that all you wish to say?" Smith queried in a level tone.

"Yes," said O'Connor, shortly; "that's all. Remember it."

And he turned toward the office of the Salamander.