country---if he is not already here, by the by--one of the shrewdest and
finest speculators in the world, who is coming over on purpose to do
what up to now our own men seem to have funked--fight the B. & I. tooth
and nail."

"Who's that, Ken?" Maurice White asked with interest. "Why haven't I
heard about him before?"

"Because," Kendrick replied, "he wrote and told me that he was coming
and marked his letter 'Private,' so I thought that I had better keep it
to myself. His boat was due in Liverpool several days ago, though, so I
suppose that any one who is interested knows all about his coming by
this time."

"But his name?" Sarah demanded. "Why don't you tell us his name and all
about him? I love American millionaires who do things in Wall Street
and fight with billions. If he's really nice, he may take me off your
hands, Jimmy."

"I'd like to see him try," that young man growled, with unexpected
fierceness.

"Well, his name is John Philip Wingate," Kendrick told them. "He started
life, I believe, as a journalist. Then he inherited a fortune and made
another one on Wall Street, where I imagine he came across Dreadnought
Phipps. What happened I don't exactly know," he went on ruminatively.
"Phipps couldn't have squeezed him, or we should have heard about it, but
somehow or other the two got at loggerheads, for it's common knowledge
amongst their business connections--I don't know that they have any
friends--that Wingate has sworn to break Phipps. There will be quite a