Next day Sugar was lively on the Exchange.  Bob bought all in sight and handled the buying in a masterly way.  When the closing gong struck, Beulah Sands had 20,000 shares, which averaged her 115; Bob and I had 30,000 at an average of 125, and the stock had closed 132 bid and in big demand.  Miss Sands’s 20,000 showed $340,000 profit, while our 30,000 showed $210,000 at the closing price.  All the houses with Washington wires were wildly scrambling for Sugar as soon as it began to jump.  And it certainly looked as though the shares were good for the figures set for them by Bob, $175, at which price the Sands’s profits would be $1,200,000.  Bob was beside himself with joy.  He dined with Kate and me, and as I watched him my heart almost stopped beating at the thought—­“if anything should happen to upset his plans!” His happiness was pathetic to witness.  He was like a child.  He threw away all the reserve of the past three months and laughed and was grave by turns.  After dinner, as we sat in the library over our coffee, he leaned over to my wife and said: 

“Katherine Randolph, you and Jim don’t know what misery I have been in for three months, and now—­will to-morrow never come, so I may get into the whirl and clean up this deal and send that girl back to her father with the money!  I wanted her to telegraph the judge that things looked like she would win out and bring back the relief, but she would not hear of it.  She is a marvellous woman.  She has not turned a hair to-day.  I don’t think her pulse is up an eighth to-night.  She has not sent home a word of encouragement since she has been here, more than to tell her father she is doing well with her stories.  It seems they both agreed that the only way to work the thing out was ‘whole hog or none,’ and that she was to say nothing until she could herself bring the word ‘saved’ or ‘lost.’  I don’t know but she is right.  She says if she should raise her father’s hopes, and then be compelled to dash them, the effect would be fatal.”

Bob rushed the talk along, flitting from one point to another, but invariably returning to Beulah Sands and to-morrow and its saving profits.  Finally, he got to a pitch where it seemed as though he must take off the lid, and before Kate or I realised what was coming he placed himself in front of us and said: 

“Jim, Kate, I cannot go into to-morrow without telling you something that neither of you suspect.  I must tell some one, now that everything is coming out right and that Beulah is to be saved; and whom can I tell but you, who have been everything to me?—­I love Beulah Sands, surely, deeply, with every bit of me.  I worship her, I tell you, and to-morrow, to-morrow if this deal comes out as it must come, and I can put $1,500,000 into her hands and send her home to her father, then, then, I will tell her I love her, and Jim, Kate, if she’ll marry me, good-bye, good-bye to this hell of dollar-hunting, good-bye to such misery as I have been in for three months, and home, a Virginia home, for Beulah and me.”  He sank into a chair and tears rolled down his cheeks Poor, poor Bob, strong as a lion in adversity, hysterical as a woman with victory in sight.