“And we propose to protect it.  See here, Mr. Hopper,” continued Uncle Jerry, with a most benevolent expression, “I needn’t tell you that investments fluctuate—­the Lord knows mine do!  The A. and B. was a good road.  I know that.  But it was going to be paralleled.  We’d got to parallel it to make our Southwest connections.  If we had, you’d have waited till the Gulf of Mexico freezes over before you got any coupons paid.  Instead of that, we took it into our system, and it’s being put on a permanent basis.  It’s a little inconvenient for holders, and they have got to stand a little shrinkage, but in the long-run it will be better for everybody.  The little road couldn’t stand alone, and the day of big interest is about over.”

“That explanation may satisfy you, Mr. Hollowell, but it don’t give us our money, and I notify you that we shall carry the matter into the courts.  Good-morning.”

When Mr. Hopper had gone, the two developers looked at each other a moment seriously.

“Hopper ’ll fight,” Hollowell said at last.

“And we have got the surplus to fight him with,” replied Henderson.

“That’s so,” and Uncle Jerry chuckled to himself.  “The rats that are on the inside of the crib are a good deal better off than the rats on the outside.”

“The reporter of The Planet wants five minutes,” announced the secretary, opening the door.  Henderson told him to let him in.

The reporter was a spruce young gentleman, in a loud summer suit, with a rose in his button-hole, and the air of assurance which befits the commissioner of the public curiosity.

“I am sent by The Planet,” said the young man, “to show you this and ask you if you have anything to say to it.”

“What is it?” asked Henderson.

“It’s about the A. and B.”

“Very well.  There is the president, Mr. Hollowell.  Show it to him.”

The reporter produced a long printed slip and handed it to Uncle Jerry, who took it and began to read.  As his eye ran down the column he was apparently more and more interested, and he let it be shown on his face that he was surprised, and even a little astonished.  When he had finished, he said: 

“Well, my young friend, how did you get hold of this?”

“Oh, we have a way,” said the reporter, twirling his straw hat by the elastic, and looking more knowing than old Jerry himself.

“So I see,” replied Jerry, with an admiring smile; “there is nothing that you newspaper folks don’t find out.  It beats the devil!”

“Is it true, sir?” said the young gentleman, elated with this recognition of his own shrewdness.

“It is so true that there is no fun in it.  I don’t see how the devil you got hold of it.”

“Have you any explanations?”

“No, I guess not,” said Uncle Jerry, musingly.  “If it is to come out, I’d rather The Planet would have it than any, other paper.  It’s got some sense.  No; print it.  It’ll be a big beat for your paper.  While you are about it—­I s’pose you’ll print it anyway?” (the reporter nodded)—­“you might as well have the whole story.”