“Carl, do you chance to recall what General Forrest of the late Confederate States of America had to say on the subject of strategy?” Bristoll stretched his arms above his head and leaned back in his chair, grateful for a moment of relaxation after two hours of application.

“I believe he reduced military science to the simple proposition of ‘gettin’ thar fust with the most men,’ didn’t he?”

“That was his correct formula—­and finance has its points of similarity.”

“Is the comment general, or has it a specific bearing?”

“Quite specific.  Do you remember my prophecy a short while back?  I reminded you that the coin of big business bore on one face the image and superscription of Caesar Augustus Malone—­and on the reverse my own poor stamp.”

The secretary nodded.

“The time, dear boy, is at hand when one side or the other must be turned down.”

“What has happened?” The younger man’s voice was tinged with alarm.  This child of Destiny might be immune from fear, but those who stood near his person could not always accept without question the talisman of his limitless self-faith.  Malone’s might was theoretically invincible.  Hamilton recognized the undernote of apprehension with a laugh of frank amusement; a laugh which brought to his eyes their most winning sparkle.

“The august over-lord of all the robber barons regards our reign as tributary to his own.  He fancies that our loyal respect is thinly spread.  We make too little obeisance.  Too rarely we ’crook the pregnant hinges of the knee.’  Therefore we must be crushed—­if possible.”

“You mean—­”

“I mean that it is in the mind of this generalissimo, to call me before his staff and ‘break’ me in full view of his halted ranks.”

The cheerful grin on the face of the prospective victim was so infectious and reassuring that his secretary laughed with revitalized confidence.

“But how did you learn of this conspiracy, sir?” he demanded.

“The throne which lacks its cabinet noir, Carl, is a very precarious one to sit upon.”  The “Great Bear” spoke casually.  “Our secret service is fairly satisfactory.  Also, we have a brain which, at times, prognosticates.”

“There have been new developments, then?”

Hamilton Burton shrugged his shoulders.

“The stock-holders’ meeting of Coal and Ore isn’t far distant.  After it comes the annual election of officers.  I fancy Malone may know of a man who might grace the directorate with a more deferential humility than I show—­when he speaks Jove-like from the head of the table.”

“To be ousted from that board would mean to wear the brand of defeat.”

“If Mr. Malone wants to put some one else in my place he can do it—­the chair I occupy faces the window.  Sometimes the glare hurts my eyes.”

Carl Bristoll thought he knew his chief.  Such docile acceptance of reduction to the ranks astounded him and his blank amazement stamped itself on his face.  When the elder man had enjoyed it for the space of a long silence he rose suddenly and his voice rang out like a command for a bayonet charge: