when certain work could be done which in time would yield a crop of
dividends; and Autumn was but the time when crops would be moved and
stocks sent up or down.

So, though Livingstone's eyes rested on the pane, outside of which the
flurrying snow was driving that meant so much to so many people, and his
face was thoughtful--very thoughtful--he was not thinking of the snow,
he was calculating profits.




CHAPTER III


A noise in the outer office recalled Livingstone from his reverie. He
aroused himself, almost with a start, and glanced at the gilt clock just
above the stock-indicator. He had been so absorbed that he had quite
forgotten that he had told the clerks to wait for him. He had had no
idea that he had been at work so long. He reflected, however, that he
had been writing charity-cheques: the clerks ought to appreciate the
fact.

He touched a button, and the next second there was a gentle tap on the
door, and Clark appeared. He was just the person to give just such a
tap: a refined-looking, middle-aged, middle-sized man, with a face
rather pale and a little worn; a high, calm forehead, above which the
grizzled hair was almost gone; mild, blue eyes which beamed through
black-rimmed glasses; a pleasant mouth which a drooping, colorless
moustache only partly concealed, and a well-formed but slightly