The weeks went spinning by. Both sides were losing so heavily that the fight was becoming grim. On the one hand, Bigelow, with his unreasonable directors to keep in line, was closing in relentlessly on the Wauchung interests; on the other hand, Higginson & Company were holding on with an endurance that puzzled Mr. Bigelow.

And it was at this time, when affairs were leaping along toward a crisis, that Doctor Brown of Wauchung took a hand by ordering Mr. Higginson to bed. Nothing but a complete rest could save him from a breakdown, said the Doctor—news which brought Mrs. Higginson down with nervous exhaustion, which set Mamie's wits a-fluttering, which complicated matters somewhat for Halloran. The longer Halloran studied the business, the longer he pored over statements of profits and statements of losses that could not be brought together, the plainer became the facts.. Ideas were floating in his head, ideas so nearly what he wanted that he knew it would be only a question of time before he could catch one or the other of them and bring it down into the world of reality—ideas that were later to be brought to bear, perhaps, on Bigelow and his combination; but meanwhile his course was clear. The logical next step was to shut down the mills.

He dared not think of all the details in connection with such a step, of what it would mean to Mr. Higginson, to the hundreds of men who had grown up in the work, or to what few other business interests there were in Wauchung; the mere consideration of the moral issue involved led into such a maze of pros and cons that he resolutely set it aside and kept his mind fixed on the business facts. If this step were not taken, the heavy expense of maintenance would swamp Higginson & Company and everybody connected with them so deep that all the king's horses could not drag them out; by shutting down, on the other hand, he could prolong the fight. The trust would be free to continue selling at a loss; but Higginson & Company would be enabled to leave their timber growing in the forest until prices should reach normal again.

As Mr. Higginson's whole fortune was in the business, his income was now next to nothing; but Halloran believed he could hold out six months or so longer. On the other hand, he did not think Bigelow could last so long at the head of a losing venture. Indeed, if for one moment of those tense days he had lost his belief that Bigelow could be beaten, Halloran would have dropped out of this story on this page.

One evening Doctor Brown received a call from the Manager.

“Now, Doctor,” said Halloran, when they were seated in the office, “what can you tell me about Mr. Higginson? Is he better?”

The physician shook his head. “No—no better.”

“You consider his case serious?”

“Yes,”—gravely—“it is serious.”

“I will tell you, Doctor—for you must understand it before you can answer me—that the business is in a situation that demands his attention if he is able to give it—even for five minutes.”

Doctor Brown shook his head again.

“Could I not lay a decision before him, Doctor, if I make it as clear and simple as possible?”

“No; a decision would be the last thing to bother him with.”

Halloran sat thinking. This was difficult—very difficult, indeed. Shutting down another man's mills without his knowledge was not the sort of thing he liked to do. The physician spoke again:

“His mind must have a rest, Mr. Halloran; that is the only way we can save him.”

This was final, and Halloran went out to return to his room and pore again over accounts and statements, to think again of Bigelow, to grope again for those ideas that seemed so nearly what he wanted. For another week he watched the expense account mounting up; then one day he sent for Crosman to come to his office.

“Mr. Crosman,” he said, “the mills will shut down Saturday night. Will you please see that the men are notified?”

Crosman looked at Halloran for a moment to make sure that he understood; then with a puzzled expression he left the room. Later in the day he met Halloran in the yard.

“Am I——— Do you want me to leave Saturday?” he asked, his voice full of emotion.

“No,” the Manager replied shortly, “you stay; I want you.”

That evening Halloran was at work in his room when Crosman came in.

“I just happened around at Higginson's,” he said, evidently somewhat embarrassed, “and Mamie said that her father wants to see you.”

“When—now?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Halloran pushed aside his work with a thoughtful face. Presently he said:

“If you are going back that way, I'll walk along with you.”

The door was opened by Mamie herself.

“Oh, Mr. Halloran,” she cried, “I don't know what to say. Father isn't well at all—he's so nervous and excitable. Doctor Brown told me this morning not to let him see you at all, but he says he must see you—he made me send Harry as soon as he got here. I haven't known what to do.”

Halloran heard her through, then he went directly up-stairs. Mr. Higginson's room was dimly lighted, and it was a moment before his eyes could distinguish clearly; but when he finally made out the thin figure propped up on the bed he was shocked at the change the sickness had wrought.

“Sit down,” Mr. Higginson was saying. “Tell me what this means.” His voice was tremulous with feeling. “What is this they have been telling me about closing the mills?”

“It is true. I have arranged to shut down Saturday night.”

“True, is it?” The lean old figure stirred on its pillows; the thin fingers closed tightly on a fold of the bedclothes. “Do you know what you are saying, man?”

“We can't afford to pay men for doing nothing, Mr. Higginson.”

“Do you realize what this means?” The old man raised himself on his elbow; he found it difficult to control his voice. “Do you know that I brought those men here, that I have supported some of them for thirty years? Do you think they can be cast off to starve? Why didn't you come to me with this? What do you mean by settling it out of hand?”

“I haven't been allowed to see you.”

“Not been allowed! Is this a conspiracy? There's some meaning to this, Halloran. I insist upon knowing it. Do you mean that I have got to the end? Have we lost?” The last few words were spoken with a sudden return to calmness; but his eyes were shining.

“No, not at all. I think we shall win.”

“You think!—for God's sake, Halloran, speak out and have it over with. What's the matter—what has happened?”

Halloran came over and sat on the edge of the bed where he could talk in a quiet voice; “We have not lost, Mr. Higginson, and what's more, we aren't going to lose. Bigelow's people have got to keep on selling below cost until something happens. We certainly couldn't go on running full- handed without a cent of income. By shutting down we can hold out longer than they can. It's hard on the men, but it is hard on the rest of us, too. It's the only way we can meet them.”

Even a sick man could see the soundness of this. And somehow the presence of his manager, with his air of health and confidence, went a long ways toward restoring, for the moment, the balance of Mr. Higginson's mind. He fell back on the pillows, unstrung after his excitement, but somewhat relieved.

Halloran said good-night and went downstairs. Mamie heard his step and, leaving Crosman in the sitting-room, she met him in the hall.

“I meant to tell you not to come down yet,” she said with lowered eyes. “Ma said that she wanted to see you when you came in. I'll go ahead if you don't mind.”

He followed her to another upstairs room, where he found Mrs. Higginson on a couch, dressed in the daintiest of lace-trimmed dressing-sacks. She looked up when he entered and motioned wearily to a chair.

“It is kind of you to come,” she said. “Mamie, dear, won't you get me my heavy shawl?”

Mamie, understanding, left the room and did not hurry back.

“I want to talk with you about our dear girl,” began Mrs. Higginson. “Of course, if the worst should happen—you understand———-” Here her emotion overcame her for a moment. “You can understand what a shock it has been to me. Mr. H. had not told me of the trouble, and the news that he had failed came like a thunderbolt. I don't mind for myself—but if anything should happen—if the worst—I could go so much—so much easier—if I knew that Mamie was provided for. You will be good to her, John? You will forgive me for calling you John? It is the way Mr. H. always spoke of you at home———” She was obliged to pause again. “I am afraid he will never c—call you John again.”

Her handkerchief went up to her eyes; and Halloran sat back and looked hard at a picture of the first Higginson mill, in oils, that hung over the mantel.

“I suppose we shall have to sell the house,” she went on, rallying. “You will know best about that, John. I am sure you will act for the best, and save what you can for our little girl. You will be good to her—I am sure you will. She has learned to admire you very much. And when we are—when we are no longer—and the house is gone——”

“Nothing of that sort will be necessary,” broke in Halloran, glad to relieve her mind and the gloom at the same time. “The house needn't be sold. I think we shall have the mills running again before so very long.”

He saw, as he spoke, that his words struck a discordant note. She looked at him incredulously.

“It isn't so bad as it sounds————” He meant to make it better, but, failing, stopped.

“Do you mean that we have been given this shock for nothing?” she asked, with returning strength.

The only way out was retreat. He rose, saying, “I hope to have good news for you soon,” and bowed a good-night.

He found Mamie sitting on the stairs in the dark with the shawl across her lap. She got up with a little sob and stood back against the rail for him to pass.

“Cheer up, Miss Higginson,” he said in a low voice, “It isn't a failure at all. We are getting on as well as we could expect.”

She put both hands on the railing to steady herself and looked up at him in amazement.

“You don't mean that!” she whispered, “what you said?”

He nodded. “You needn't bother about it at all. Everything is all right.”

She Still doubted. “But the mills?”

“The mills will be running soon.”

“Oh, really?” she said, almost wonderingly. “Really?”

The sobs were coming again. She caught his hand in both of hers and held it tightly. “Then there isn't any failure—and you are going to save our home for us?”

This was frying-pan to fire. Halloran answered hastily:

“It won't be necessary to save it. We shall be all right again soon.”

His matter-of-fact tone brought her to herself. She released his hand and, suddenly plunged into confusion, hurried upstairs.

On his way out Halloran paused in the hall. Through the wide doorway he could see Crosman, out in the sitting-room, striding around with his hands in his pockets.

“Good-night, Crosman,” he ventured.

But the other would not hear him; and Halloran, feeling as if he had been put through a wringer, went out.