In a guarded silence the young cashier awaited Mr. Robert Wade's
official action on this June afternoon. He was only vaguely
aware by rumor that Hugh Worthington and Miss Alice still lingered
somewhere on the Pacific Coast.

There had been no further word from Arthur Ferris, and the
all-important election was but a week distant now. Clayton keenly
watched the solemn-faced manager as he drew out some papers from
a bulky envelope. There was but one phase in his now double life
of which Clayton naturally feared the exposure.

Warned by Witherspoon, Clayton had watched the steady rise of the
Western Trading Company's stock, week by week, during the absence
of the arbiter of its destinies. His veins were filled with the
tide of a new-born passion.

Clayton had boldly risked all his savings in the margining of
large blocks of the stock, dealing constantly through a Wall Street
friend.

Three times he had fortunately turned over his capital since
Witherspoon had unveiled the scheme to draw in a majority of the
shares, and he was now sixteen thousand dollars to the good. Even
after lavishing a goodly part of his gains upon the mysterious
diva, in every fantastic way possible, in their stealthy meetings,
Clayton still had pyramided his capital and now was sure of another
harvest. And he only wondered at the reluctance with which the
lovely Hungarian accepted the jewels thrust upon her.