Keith took it against Norman’s protest, and when he had read it, picked up a pen and signed his name firmly.

“Here, witness it,” said Mr. Kestrel to his next neighbor.  “If any of the rest of you want to save your bones, you had better come in.”

Several of the directors agreed with him.

Though Norman protested, Keith accepted their proposals, and a paper was drawn up which most of those present signed.  It provided that a certain time should be given Keith in which to raise money to make good his offer, and arrangements were made provisionally to wind up the present company, and to sell out and transfer its rights to a new organization.  Some of the directors prudently insisted on reserving the right to withdraw their proposals should they change their minds.  It may be stated, however, that they had no temptation to do so.  Times rapidly grew worse instead of better.

But Keith had occasion to know how sound was Squire Rawson’s judgment when, a little later, another of the recurrent waves of depression swept over the country, and several banks in New Leeds went down, among them the bank in which old Rawson had had his money.  The old man came up to town to remind Keith of his wisdom.

“Well, what do you think of brass and credulity now?” he demanded.

“Let me know when you begin to prophesy against me,” said Keith, laughing.

“’Tain’t no prophecy.  It’s jest plain sense.  Some folks has it and some hasn’t.  When sense tells you a thing, hold on to it.

“Well, you jest go ahead and git things in shape, and don’t bother about me.  No use bein’ in a hurry, neither.  I have observed that when times gits bad, they generally gits worse.  It’s sorter like a fever; you’ve got to wait for the crisis and jest kind o’ nurse ’em along.  But I don’t reckon that coal is goin’ to run away.  It has been there some time, accordin’ to what that young man used to say, and if it was worth what they gin for it a few years ago, it’s goin’ to be worth more a few years hence.  When a wheel keeps turnin’, the bottom’s got to come up sometime, and if we can stick we’ll be there.  I think you and I make a pretty good team.  You let me furnish the ideas and you do the work, and we’ll come out ahead o’ some o’ these Yankees yet.  Jest hold your horses; keep things in good shape, and be ready to start when the horn blows.  It’s goin’ to blow sometime.”

* * * * *

The clouds that had begun to rest in Norman Wentworth’s eyes and the lines that had written themselves in his face were not those of business alone.  Fate had brought him care of a deeper and sadder kind.  Though Keith did not know it till later, the little rift within the lute, that he had felt, but had not understood, that first evening when he dined at Norman’s house, had widened, and Norman’s life was beginning to be overcast with the saddest of all clouds.  Miss Abigail’s keen intuition had discovered the flaw.  Mrs. Wentworth had fallen a victim to her folly.  Love of pleasure, love of admiration, love of display, had become a part of Mrs. Wentworth’s life, and she was beginning to reap the fruits of her ambition.