“That, of course, will be easily managed.  It’s too bad she’s away just now.”

“It was the first time I ever asked her help in any of my business affairs, and it’s unfortunate.  The fact is that Mrs. Bassett doesn’t know of it.”

He rose and crossed the room slowly with his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets.

“But if Mrs. Owen is guaranteed against loss there’s no ground for criticizing you,” said Dan.  “There’s nothing to trouble about on that side of it, I should think.”

“Oh, I’m not troubling about that,” replied Bassett shortly.  He shrugged his shoulders and walked to the window, gazing out on the street in silence for several minutes.  Then he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I told you, Dan, when you opened our office in the Boordman Building, that if ever the time came when you didn’t want to serve me any longer you were to feel free to quit.  You are under no obligations to me of any sort.  I caught a bargain in you; you have been useful to me in many ways; you have carried nearly the whole burden of the paper-mill receivership in a way to win me the praise of the court and all others interested.  If you should quit me to-night I should still be your debtor.  I had about decided to leave you out of my calculations in politics; you have the making of a good lawyer and if you opened an office to-morrow you would find clients without trouble.  You are beginning to be known, very well known for a man of your years.”

Harwood demurred feebly, unheeded by Bassett, who continued steadily.

“I had thought for a time that I shouldn’t encourage you to take any part in politics—­at least in my affairs.  The receivership has been giving you enough to do; and the game, after all, is a hard one.  Even after I decided to break with Thatcher I thought I’d leave you out of it:  that’s why I gave you no intimation of what was coming, but put the details into Atwill’s hands.  I had really meant to show you a proof of that editorial, but I wasn’t sure until they had to close the page that night that I was ready to make the break.  I had been pretty hot that evening at the Country Club when I saw Pettit and Thatcher chumming together; I wanted to be sure I had cooled off.  But I find that I’ve got in the habit of relying on you; I’ve been open with you from the beginning, and as you know I’m not much given to taking men into my confidence.  But I’ve been leaning on you a good deal—­more, in fact, than I realized.”

There was no questioning Bassett’s sincerity, nor was there any doubt that this appeal was having its effect on the younger man.  If Bassett had been a weakling timorously making overtures for help, Harwood would have been sensible of it; but a man of demonstrated force and intelligence, who had probably never talked thus to another soul in his life, was addressing him with a candor at once disarming and compelling.  It was not easy to say to a man from whom he had accepted every kindness that he had ceased to trust him; that while he had been his willing companion on fair-weather voyages, he would desert without a qualm before the tempest.  But even now Bassett had asked nothing of him; why should he harden his heart against the man who had been his friend?