"He seems to be growing worse and worse." Mostyn went on, irritably.
"I heard he had actually threatened my life. I don't want to take
steps to restrain him, but I'll have to if he keeps it up. I can't
afford to have him slandering me on every street-corner as he is
doing. Every business man knows I was not to blame in that deal. The
courts settled that for good and all."

Saunders made no comment. He fumbled a glass paper-weight with one
hand and tugged at his brown mustache with the fingers of the other.
Mostyn stared into his calm eyes impatiently.

"What do you think I ought to do?" he finally asked.

"I am in no position to say," Saunders answered, awkwardly. "It is a
matter for you to decide. His condition is really pitiful. His family
seem to be in actual need. Girls brought up as his daughters were
brought up don't seem to know exactly how to make a living."

"Well, I can't pay money back to him," Mostyn said, angrily. "I'd make
an ass of myself, and admit my indebtedness to many others who
happened to lose in that mill. His suit against me cost me several
thousand dollars, and he has injured me in all sorts of ways with his
slanderous tongue. He'll have to let up. I won't stand it any longer."

Therewith Mostyn turned and went back to his office. Closing the door
behind him, he started to throw himself on the lounge, but instead sat
down at his desk, took up a pen and drew some paper to him. "I'll
write Tom Drake and ask him if he has room for me," he said. "Up there
in the mountains I'll throw the whole thing off and take a good rest."