On the morning after the wedding, at a quarter before seven, Arthur and Madelene came down the drive together to the new little house by the gate.  And very handsome and well matched they seemed as they stood before her office and gazed at the sign:  “Madelene Ranger, M.D.”  She unlocked and opened the door; he followed her in.  When, a moment later, he reappeared and went swinging down the street to his work, his expression would have made you like him—­and envy him.  And at the window watching him was Madelene.  There were tears in her fine eyes, and her bosom was heaving in a storm of emotion.  She was saying, “It almost seems wicked to feel as happy as I do.”

CHAPTER XXI

HIRAM’S SON

In Hiram Ranger’s last year the Ranger-Whitney Company made half a million; the first year under the trustees there was a small deficit.  Charles Whitney was most apologetic to his fellow trustees who had given him full control because he owned just under half the stock and was the business man of the three.  “I’ve relied wholly on Howells,” explained he.  “I knew Ranger had the highest opinion of his ability, but evidently he’s one of those chaps who are good only as lieutenants.  However, there’s no excuse for me—­none.  During the coming year I’ll try to make up for my negligence.  I’ll give the business my personal attention.”

But at the end of the second year the books showed that, while the company had never done so much business, there was a loss of half a million; another such year and the surplus would be exhausted.  At the trustees’ meeting, of the three faces staring gloomily at these ruinous figures the gloomiest was Charles Whitney’s.  “There can be only one explanation,” said he.  “The shifting of the centers of production is making it increasingly difficult to manufacture here at a profit.”

“Perhaps the railways are discriminating against us,” suggested Scarborough.

Whitney smiled slightly.  “That’s your reform politics,” said he.  “You fellows never seek the natural causes for things; you at once accuse the financiers.”

Scarborough smiled back at him.  “But haven’t there been instances of rings in control of railways using their power for plants they were interested in and against competing plants?”

“Possibly—­to a limited extent,” conceded Whitney.  “But I hold to the old-fashioned idea.  My dear sir, this is a land of opportunity—­”

“Still, Whitney,” interrupted Dr. Hargrave, “there may be something in what Senator Scarborough says.”

“Undoubtedly,” Whitney hastened to answer.  “I only hope there is.  Then our problem will be simple.  I’ll set my lawyers to work at once.  If that is the cause”—­he struck the table resolutely with his clenched fist—­“the scoundrels shall be brought to book!”

His eyes shifted as he lifted them to find Scarborough looking at him.  “You have inside connections with the Chicago railway crowd, have you not, Mr. Whitney?” he inquired.