“Oh, no; I didn’t mean just that.  But you know he usually plans all the little details himself, and—­”

“And the fact that somebody else plans them is sufficient excuse for a rearrangement.  That is one of the penalties he pays for being the big boss,” laughed Ford.  Since the yesterday was now safely yesterday, and to-day was his own, there was no room for anything but pure joy.

“You are a ‘big boss,’ too, aren’t you?” she said, matching his light-hearted mood.

“I was, in a way, until your uncle came over and eclipsed me.”

“And you will be again when Uncle Sidney moves a little farther along in his orbit.”

“That remains to be seen.  There is yet plenty of time for him to abolish me, permanently, before he goes on his way rejoicing.”

“But you are not going to resign, you know,” she reminded him.

“Am I not?” Then he took his courage by the proper grip and went on with sudden gravity:  “That rests entirely with you.”

“Mr. Ford!  Aren’t you a little unfair?” She did not pretend to misunderstand him.

“I am open to convincement,” he affirmed.

“It is making me Uncle Sidney’s executioner, on one hand; or yours, on the other.”

He pressed the point relentlessly.

“There are only two horns to the dilemma:  either Mr. Colbrith, or a man named Stuart Ford, will have to walk the official plank.  Because Mr. Colbrith is your relative, I’m willing to be the victim.  But you must say that it is what you wish.  That is my price.”

“I say it is unfair,” she repeated.  “Why should you put the burden of the decision upon poor me?”

“Because, if you were not concerned, there would be, to put it in good Hibernian, only one horn to the dilemma—­and your uncle would be impaled upon that one.”

“Mercy!” she shuddered, in mock dismay.  “That sounds almost vindictive.  Are you vindictive, Mr. Ford?”

“Terribly,” he laughed.  “The black-hearted villain of melodrama isn’t a patch on me when I’m stirred.”  And then, more seriously:  “But it isn’t altogether a joke.  There is another side to the thing—­what you might call the ethical, I suppose.  There are a score or so of men in the company’s service—­Frisbie and his subordinates—­whose jobs hang upon mine.  A worse man than I ever aspired to be might be loyal to his friends.”

“I wouldn’t think of questioning your loyalty to your friends,” she admitted.

“Also,” he went on determinately, “there is the larger question of right and wrong involved.  Is it right for me to step aside and let an organized system of graft and thievery go on unchecked?  I know it exists; I have evidence enough to go before a grand jury.  I’m not posing as a saint, or even as a muck-raker; but isn’t something due to the people who are paying the bills?”

“Now you are involving Uncle Sidney again; and I can’t listen to that.”