"You cannot do this, Eugene. In the first place, the half-share is not yours, until the legacies have been paid."

"They never can be! I would take Wilmarth's word as soon as yours.

There is no use worrying and scrimping and going without everything for the sake of the others."

"For shame, Eugene. But fortunately the law has to settle this, not any individual preference. Let us go to Mr. Connery at once."

"I shall keep to my bargain, to my word," says Eugene, with sullen persistence. "I don't want any advice, and the thing _is_ done."

"Then it will have to be undone, that is all."

Eugene rushes out of the room. Floyd immediately starts for the lawyer's, and after a discussion they seek an interview with Mr.

Wilmarth. The whole transaction is a fraudulent one, and Mr. Connery will invoke the aid of the law if there is no other way out.

Mr. Wilmarth is taken very much by surprise, that they can both see.

His first att.i.tude looks like battle. Mr. Connery makes a brief and succinct statement, explaining what he puts very graciously as a mistake or an informality, and Wilmarth listens attentively.

"Gentlemen," he says, with a great effort at suavity, "this was young Mr. Grandon's offer. I may as well explain to you," with a stinging emphasis, "that _he_ is a good deal in debt and needs money. I should have held this share subject to some demands, of course. Three thousand five hundred was to go to his share of the note, and the rest was to be subject to his call at any time."

Floyd Grandon is so incensed that he shows his hand incautiously.

"Mr. Wilmarth, I offer you twelve thousand dollars for your quarter-share," he says.

"Mr. Grandon, I beg leave to decline it."

The two men measure each other. They will always be antagonistic.

"What will you take to dispose of it?"

"It is not for sale."

"Then you must have faith in the ultimate recovery of the business."

"Not necessarily. If I choose to risk my money it is my own affair. I have no family to impoverish. And all business is a risk, a species of gambling. You stake your money against the demand for a certain line of goods, red, we will say. The ball rises and lo, it is white, but you whistle 'better luck next time.'"

Mr. Connery has been thinking. "So you expected to take half the amount of the note out of Mr. Eugene's quarter-share?" he says.

Wilmarth starts, then puts on an air of surprise that is quite evident to the others.

"That _is_ a mistake," he admits frankly. "No doubt we should have found it out in the course of settlement. I trusted most of this matter to Eugene, and he surely should not have wronged himself. But it is all of no consequence now; as well tear up the memorandum. But, Mr. Grandon, if you are to be your brother's banker, may I trouble you to settle these?"

He hands Floyd three notes. They aggregate nearly two thousand dollars.

Floyd Grandon folds them without a motion of surprise, and promises to attend to them to-morrow, when the note is taken up.

"Your brother has not your father's head for business," Wilmarth says, with scarcely concealed contempt.

"No. It is quite a matter of regret, since it was to be his portion."

"To-morrow we will meet here for the settlement of the note," announces Mr. Connery. Then they say good morning with outward politeness.

Wilmarth's eyes follow Grandon's retreating figure. He has mistaken his man, a thing he seldom does; but Floyd's antecedents, his refinement, and scholarly predilections have misled him into believing he could be as easily managed as Eugene. Wilmarth has given his adversary one advantage which he bitterly regrets. When Eugene named half for his share of the note he had let it go, and in the two or three after-references Eugene clearly had not seen it. Wilmarth had repeated the statement carelessly, and now he would give much to recall it, though otherwise it might have gone without a thought.

Eugene absents himself all day. Mrs. Grandon is much distressed, but she is afraid to question Floyd. Even the next morning they merely nod carelessly, and no word is said until Floyd brings home the notes.

"Have you any more debts?" Floyd asks in a quiet tone, which he means to be kindly as well.

"No." Then curiosity gets the better of the young man. "Was there an awful row, Floyd?"

"Mr. Wilmarth, of course, saw the utter impossibility of any such agreement. Eugene," slowly, "is there anything you would like better than the business?"

"No business at all," answers Eugene, with audacious frankness. "I really haven't any head for it."

"But you understand--something, surely? You can--keep books, for instance? What did you do in father's time?"

"Made myself generally useful. Wrote letters and carried messages and went to the city," is the laconic reply.

Floyd is so weary and discouraged that something in his face touches Eugene.

"I wish you wanted to take my mare, Beauty, for part of this," he says, hesitatingly. "She cost me a thousand dollars, but I won back three hundred on the first race. She's gentle, too, and a saddle horse, that is, for a man. You would like her, I know."

Floyd considers a moment. "Yes," he makes answer, and hands Eugene the largest note, which balances it. "Make me out a bill of sale," he adds.

"You're a good fellow, Floyd, and I'm obliged."

For a moment Floyd Grandon feels like giving his younger brother some good advice, then he realizes the utter hopelessness of it. Nothing will sink into Eugene's mind, it is all surface. It may be that Wilmarth's influence is not a good thing for a young man. How has his father been so blinded?

"That man is a villain," Connery had said when they left the factory.

"It will be war between you, and you had better get him out if it is possible."

Floyd sighs now, thinking of all the perplexities. What is Mr. St.

Vincent like? Will there be trouble in this direction as well?

He has deputed Connery to find him some efficient mechanician to go over the factory and see what can be done. Surely Wilmarth cannot oppose anything for their united interest, unless, indeed, he means to ruin if he cannot rule. There _is_ a misgiving in Floyd's mind that he is purposely allowing everything to depreciate with a view of getting it cheaply into his own hands. Floyd has the capacity of being roused, "put on his mettle," and now he resolves, distasteful as it is, to fight it through.

CHAPTER VI.

There is a ripe season for everything: if you slip that, or antic.i.p.ate it, you dim the grace of the matter.--BISHOP HACKETT.

A rather curious lull falls in factory affairs. Mr. Wilmarth is gone almost a fortnight. Floyd makes the acquaintance of the superintendent, and finds him an intelligent man, but rather opposed to the new system of machinery.

"We were making money before," he says. "I like to let well alone, but Mr. Grandon, your father, was wonderfully taken with St. Vincent's ideas. They're good enough, but no better than the old. We gain here, and lose there. Of course if it was all as St. Vincent represents, there would be a fortune in it,--carpet weaving would be revolutionized.

But I am afraid there is some mistake."

Mr. Lindmeyer comes up and spends two days watching the working. He is very much impressed with some of the ideas. If _he_ could see Mr. St.

Vincent.