Mr. Belcher read over this letter with great satisfaction.  It seemed to him very dignified and very wise.  He had saved his ten thousand dollars for a while, at least, and bluffed, as he sincerely believed, his dreaded antagonist.

Mr. Balfour did more than to indulge in his professional smile, over the frank showing of the General’s hand, and the voluntary betrayal of his line of defence.  He filed away the note among the papers relating to the case, took his hat, walked across the street, rang the bell, and sent up his card to Mr. Belcher.  That self-complacent gentleman had not expected this visit, although he had suggested it.  Instead, therefore, of inviting Mr. Balfour to his library, he went down to the drawing-room, where he found his visitor, quietly sitting with his hat in his hand.  The most formal of courtesies opened the conversation, and Mr. Balfour stated his business at once.  “You were kind enough to offer to show me the assignment of Mr. Benedict’s patents,” he said.  “I have called to see it.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said the General.

“Do you suspect me of wishing to steal it?” inquired Mr. Balfour.

“No, but the fact is, I wrote my note to you without consulting my lawyer.”

“I thought so,” said Mr. Balfour.  “Good-day, sir.”

“No offence, I hope,” said Mr. Belcher, with a peculiar toss of the head, and a laugh.

“Not the least,” said the lawyer, passing out of the door.

The General felt that he had made a mistake.  He was in the habit of making mistakes in those days.  The habit was growing upon him.  Indeed, he suspected that he had made a mistake in not boldly exhibiting his assignment.  How to manage a lie, and not be managed by it, was a question that had puzzled wiser heads than that of the General.  He found an egg in his possession that he was not ready to eat, though it was too hot to be held long in either hand, and could not be dropped without disaster.

For a week, he was haunted with the expectation of a suit, but it was not brought, and then he began to breathe easier, and to feel that something must be done to divert his mind from the subject.  He drank freely, and was loud-mouthed and blustering on the street.  Poor Talbot had a hard time, in endeavoring to shield him from his imprudences.  He saw that his effort to make his principal “last” was not likely to be successful.

Rallied by his “friends” on his ill luck, the General declared that he only speculated for fun.  He knew what he was about.  He never risked any money that he could not afford to lose.  Everybody had his amusement, and this was his.

He was secure for some months in his seat as President of the Crooked Valley Railroad, and calculated, of course, on buying back his stock in his own time, at his own price.  In the meantime, he would use his position for carrying on his private schemes.

The time came at last when he wanted more ready money.  A grand combination had been made, among his own unprincipled set, for working up a “corner” in the Muscogee Air Line, and he had been invited into it.  He was flattered by the invitation, and saw in it a chance for redeeming his position, though, at bottom, the scheme was one for working up a corner in Robert Belcher.