"And if I go on as I've been doing?"

The doctor gave him a keen glance. He was a judge of character, and saw this was a determined, fearless man.

"You may live three or four years, though I'm doubtful. On the other hand, the first sharp attack you provoke may finish you."

Clay showed no sign of dismay. He looked thoughtful rather than startled, for something had occurred to him.

"Would you recommend a voyage to a cold, bracing climate, say in the spring?"

"I'd urge it now. The sooner the better."

"I can't go yet. Perhaps in a month or two. In the meanwhile I suppose you'll give me a prescription?"

The doctor went to his desk and wrote on two slips of paper which he handed to Clay. He had told him plainly what to expect, and could do no more.

"The first medicine is for regular use as directed; but you must be careful about the other," he cautioned. "When you feel the faintness you described, take the number of drops mentioned, but on no account exceed it. The dispenser will mark the bottle."

Clay thanked him and lighted a strong cigar as he went out, then remembered that he had been warned against excessive smoking, and hesitated, but the next moment he put the cigar back in his mouth. If the doctor's opinions were correct, this small indulgence would not matter much. With good luck, he could bring all his schemes to fruition in the next year or two; he had no intention of dropping them. He had been warned, but he had taken risks all his life, and he had too much on hand to be prudent now. Still, it would do no harm to have the prescriptions made up. He looked around for a quiet drugstore. n.o.body must suspect that his career was liable to come to a sudden termination.

CHAPTER XXIII-THE FIRST ATTACK

Clay made no marked change in his mode of living, and shortly after his visit to the doctor he engaged in a struggle with a group of speculators who opposed one of his business schemes. They were clever men, with money enough to make them troublesome enemies, and Clay realized that he must spare no effort if he meant to win. He beat them and determined to exact a heavy indemnity, but the battle was stubbornly fought and during the month it lasted he had little rest by night or day. Long after the city offices were closed he entertained his supporters in his rooms at the hotel, and, rising early, altered and improved his plans before the business day began.

To his delight, he felt no bad effects; he was somewhat limp and lazy, but that, no doubt, was a natural reaction from the strain. He could now, however, afford to take a few days' rest, and he telegraphed Aynsley that he would spend the week-end at Osborne's house, which was always open to both. Enjoying the first-fruits of his victory, in the shape of some tempting offers, shortly before he left his office, he traveled down the Sound in high content, and, to complete his satisfaction, he learned on arriving that Aynsley had secured some large and profitable orders for lumber.

Dinner was served early on the Sat.u.r.day evening, and Clay, finding that he had an excellent appet.i.te, ate and drank more than usual. He was quite well, he told himself, but had had an anxious time and needed bracing. Miss Dexter watched him with disapproval when, after dinner was finished, he stood in the hall with a large gla.s.s in his hand. The man had a high color, but his eyes had a strained look and his lips a curious bluish tinge. He appeared to be quite sober, which caused her some surprise, but he was talking rather freely and his laugh was harsh.

She thought he looked coa.r.s.e and overbearing in his present mood.

The large hall was tastefully paneled in cedar, a fire of pine logs burned on the open hearth, and small lamps hung among the wooden pillars. A drawing-room and a billiard-room, both warmed and lighted, opened out of it, but Osborne left his guests to do what they liked best, and n.o.body seemed inclined to move. Ruth and Aynsley were talking near the hearth, Miss Dexter had some embroidery in her hands, and Osborne lounged in a deep chair beside the table. Clay, with the now empty gla.s.s in his hand, leaned negligently upon the table, feeling well satisfied with himself. His manners were not polished, but he was aware of it, and never pretended to graces he did not possess. He smiled when he caught Miss Dexter's censorious glance.

"I'm often in trouble, ma'am, and find I can't fight on coffee and ice-water," he explained humorously.

"Perhaps that's one of their advantages," Miss Dexter replied. "But as we're not quarrelsome people, you ought to enjoy a few days' peace."

"That's so. I guess I warmed up over telling your brother-in-law about my latest battle." He turned to Osborne. "Frame and Nesbitt were in this morning, ready to take what I'd give them on their knees. Fletcher came and tried to bluff, but he wilted when I cracked the whip. I have the gang corralled, and they'll go broke before they get out."

Clay's rather obvious failings included an indulgence in coa.r.s.e vainglory, though he had generally the sense to check it when it might prove a handicap. Now, however, he was in an expansive mood, inclined to make the most of his triumph.

"The joke is that they were plumb-sure they'd squeeze me dry," he went on. "Got hold of a tip about the development land purchase plan and never guessed I'd planted it for them. Morgan cost me high, and his nerve is bad, but he's a cute little rat, and works well in the dark."

"I thought the opposition had bought him," Osborne said.

"So they did," Clay chuckled. "Now they want his blood, and I believe Denby's mad enough about it to have him sandbagged. That plays into my hand, because the fellow will stick to me for protection. If he tries to strike me for extra pay, I've only to threaten I'll throw him to the wolves. Guess the way they're howling has scared him pretty bad."

"Have you begun the clean-up yet?"

"Washed out the first panful before I came away," Clay replied in miners' phraseology. "Ten thousand dollars for two small back lots. It's all good pay-dirt, carrying heavy metal."

"In a way, I'm sorry for Fletcher. He's had a bad time lately, and, as he has got into low water, I'm afraid this will finish him."

"He joined the gang. Now he has to take the consequences."

Clay saw that Miss Dexter was listening with disapproval. He was not averse to having an audience and he had spoken loudly.

"If you saw the people who'd conspired to rob you come to grief through their greediness, what would you do about it, Miss Dexter?" he asked.

"I should try not to gloat over their downfall," she answered with some asperity.

"Looks better," Clay agreed. "But when I have the fellows down, it seems prudent to see that they don't get up again too soon."

Miss Dexter studied him. Admitting that modesty would have become him better, she did not believe he was boasting at random. There was power in the man, though she imagined he did not often use it well. She disliked his principles, and he frequently repelled her, but sometimes she felt attracted. He had, she thought, a better side than the one he generally showed.

"Does it never pay to be merciful?" she asked.

"Very seldom. In my line of business you have, as a rule, to break or be broken hard. It's a hard fight. I keep the rules of the ring. Sometimes they're pretty liberally interpreted, but if you go too far, you get hustled out and disqualified. In this country the stakes are high, but I've been through the hardest training since I was a boy, and I've got to win." He paused with a glance toward Aynsley. "Sounds pretty egotistical, doesn't it? But I know my powers, and I can't be stopped."

His forceful air gave him a touch of dignity and redeemed the crude daring of his boast. Osborne looked at him curiously, but Miss Dexter felt half daunted. She thought his att.i.tude grossly defiant; the inordinate pride he showed would bring its punishment.

"It sounds very rash," she said. "You don't know what you may have to contend with."

Clay laughed harshly.

"I've some suspicion; but there comes a time, often after years of struggle, when a man knows he has only to hold on and win the game.

Curious, isn't it? But he does know, and sets his teeth as he braces himself for the effort that's going to give him the prize."

He spoke with vehemence, the color darkening in his face. Miss Dexter wondered whether the last gla.s.s of whisky and pota.s.s had gone to his head; but the flush suddenly faded and his lips turned blue. Osborne was the first to notice it. Jumping up, he grabbed Clay by the arms and shoved him toward the nearest chair. Clay fell into it heavily, and began fumbling at his vest pocket, but he soon let his hand drop in a nerveless manner. The next moment Aynsley was at his side. The hall was large, and the boy had been sitting some distance off, but he did not run and he made no noise. He had inherited his father's swiftness of action, and Ruth, following in alarm, noticed the lithe grace of his movements. The girl's impressions were, however, somewhat blurred, and it was not until afterward that the scene fixed itself vividly in her mind.

"Perhaps we'd better get the car out," Aynsley said quickly. "We may want it if this is going to last."

Osborne rang a bell and there was silence for a few moments while they waited, uncertain what to do. Clay's face was livid and his eyes were half shut. He seemed unconscious of their presence, and they imagined that he was struggling against the weakness that was mastering him. His lips were tight set, his brows knit, and his hand was firmly clenched.

Osborne gave an order to a servant, who immediately disappeared, and then Clay's tense pose relaxed. He sank back in the chair, loose and limp, as if all power had suddenly gone out of him.

The change was more startling to those watching than the first attack.

They had long known his strength and resolution; but now he lay inert, with head falling forward, a bulky, flaccid figure, suddenly stripped of everything that had made him feared. He was grotesque in his helplessness, and Ruth had a curious feeling that there was something unfitting, almost indecent, in their watching him. It appeared, however, that he was conscious, for when Osborne held a gla.s.s to his lips he feebly moved his head in refusal, and his slack fingers began to fumble at the pocket again.

"There's something he wants there!" Ruth said sharply. "Perhaps it's something he ought to take!"

Aynsley thrust his hand into the pocket and brought out a small bottle.

"Six drops," he read out and was about to lift his father's head when Miss Dexter stopped him.

"No," she said; "you'll spill it. Wait for a spoon."

She brought one and with some trouble they administered the dose. For a while there was no visible result, and then Clay sighed and with a slack movement changed his pose. A little later he opened his eyes and beckoned.