face to face with the falling price of cotton and rising wages," was
John Taylor's dry addendum.

"Rising price of cotton, you mean," Harry corrected.

"Oh, temporarily," John Taylor admitted.

"Precisely, and thus postpone the decision."

"No, Mr. Cresswell. I'm offering to let you in on the ground
floor--_now_--not next year, or year after."

"Mr. Taylor, have you any money in this?"

"Everything I've got."

"Well, the thing is this way: if you can prove to us that conditions are
as you say, we're in for it."

"Good! Meet me in New York, say--let's see, this is March tenth--well,
May third."

Young Cresswell was thinking rapidly. This man without doubt represented
money. He was anxious for an alliance. Why? Was it all straight, or did
the whole move conceal a trick?

His eyes strayed to the porch where his pretty sister sat languidly, and
then toward the school where the other sister lived. John Taylor looked
out on the porch, too. They glanced quickly at each other, and each
wondered if the other had shared his thought. Harry Cresswell did not