Any man whose interests are extensive and diverse has sooner or later to
master the art of making other men work for him, and he must be content to
trust the management of a great part of his affairs to other hands. Jim
Weeks loved to keep a grasp even on the comparatively insignificant
details of his business, but he showed wonderful insight in the selection
of his lieutenants, and he could impart such momentum to his projects that
they moved forward as he meant them to, though his own hand was not
guiding them. Like other men accustomed to giving orders, he took it for
granted that his directions would be carried out.

Bridge, the Tillman City alderman to whom he had intrusted the task of
watching Blaney, had worked for Jim long enough to know that this affair
was in his own hands, and that something more than obedience and zeal was
expected of him. Though Jim's words had been brief, it was easy to see
that the matter was important; important enough to give Bridge a great
opportunity. He wanted to make the most of it, and, in the excitement of
laying his plans, the design for the stable was forgotten.

As the day wore on and his scheme crystallized, he fluctuated between a
sort of exalted confidence and the depths of nervous depression. He was
naturally a steady, humdrum sort of man, but he was planning to do an
audacious thing. His chance had come, and he meant to take it. At last,
just before supper time, he resolutely locked his office, and started out
to see Blaney. He hesitated a second or two before the contractor's house;
then he ran up the steps and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a little girl, who peered up at him through the
dusk with a child's curiosity. Bridge knew her, but he was of that kind of
bachelors who are embarrassed in the presence of children.