climbed up straightway over the backs of lesser men. He thought of
Robbin-Steele. A man like that would die with the harness of the
money-game on his back, reaching for more. Gower was of the same type,
skillful in all the tricks of the game, ruthless, greedy for power and
schooled to grasp it in a bewildering variety of ways.

No, he rather doubted that Gower was broke, or even in any danger of
going broke. He hoped this might be true, in spite of his doubts, for it
meant that Gower would be compelled to sacrifice this six hundred acres
of MacRae land. The sooner the better. It was a pain to MacRae to see it
going wild. The soil Donald MacRae had cleared and turned to meadow, to
small fields of grain, was growing up to ferns and scrub. It had been a
source of pride to old Donald. He had visualized for his son more than
once great fields covered with growing crops, a rich and fruitful area,
with a big stone house looking out over the cliffs where ultimate
generations of MacRaes should live. If luck had not gone against old
Donald he would have made this dream come true. But life and Gower had
beaten him.

Jack MacRae knew this. It maddened him to think that this foundation of
a dream had become the plaything of his father's enemy, a neglected
background for a summer cottage which he only used now and then.

There might, however, be something in the statements Stubby had made.
MacRae recalled that Gower had not replaced the _Arrow_. The
underwriters had raised and repaired the mahogany cruiser, and she had
passed into other hands. When Betty and her father came to Cradle Bay
they came on a cannery tender or a hired launch. MacRae hoped it might
be true that Gower was slipping, that he had helped to start him on this
decline.