"Such a contract would be a little less valuable than that waste paper,"
Porter replied politely, indicating the crumpled sheets on the table. Then
he turned to McNally and asked, "How many men will it take to swing it?"

"Three, if we get the right ones. Yes, I know the men we want. I can get
them all right," he added, in response to the unspoken question. "It will
need a little--oil, though, for the wheels."

"I suppose so," said Porter, dryly. "I think you'd better get at it right
away. It's two o'clock now. The two-thirty express will get you to
Manchester so that you can reach Tillman about seven-thirty. It doesn't
pay to waste any time when you're trying to get ahead of Jim Weeks. He
moves quick. Have you got money enough?"

McNally nodded.

Thompson had come to the surface again. He was breathing thickly, and his
high, bald forehead was damp with perspiration. "That's bribery," he said,
"and it's--dangerous."

"I'm afraid that can't be helped, Mr. Thompson," said Porter. "It's neck
or nothing. We've got to have that Tillman City stock."

There were but four people in the room when he began speaking. There were
five when he finished, for Harvey West had grown tired of waiting. He
bowed politely.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Ah! Mr. Porter. How do you do? I beg your
pardon for intruding."