“Mr. Ryder,” he began with excited gesture, “the terms you offer are preposterous.  It would mean disaster to the stockholders.  Our gas properties are worth six times that amount.  We will sell out for twenty millions—­not a cent less.”

Ryder shrugged his shoulders.

“Mr. Herts,” he replied coolly, “I am busy to-day and in no mood for arguing.  We’ll either buy you out or force you out.  Choose.  You have our offer.  Five millions for your gas property.  Will you take it?”

“We’ll see you in hell first!” cried his visitor exasperated.

“Very well,” replied Ryder still unruffled, “all negotiations are off.  You leave me free to act.  We have an offer to buy cheap the old Germantown Gas Company which has charter rights to go into any of the streets of Philadelphia.  We shall purchase that company, we will put ten millions new capital into it, and reduce the price of gas in Philadelphia to sixty cents a thousand.  Where will you be then?”

The face of the Colossus as he uttered this stand and deliver speech was calm and inscrutable.  Conscious of the resistless power of his untold millions, he felt no more compunction in mercilessly crushing this business rival than he would in trampling out the life of a worm.  The little man facing him looked haggard and distressed.  He knew well that this was no idle threat.  He was well aware that Ryder and his associates by the sheer weight of the enormous wealth they controlled could sell out or destroy any industrial corporation in the land.  It was plainly illegal, but it was done every day, and his company was not the first victim nor the last.  Desperate, he appealed humbly to the tyrannical Money Power: 

“Don’t drive us to the wall, Mr. Ryder.  This forced sale will mean disaster to us all.  Put yourself in our place—­think what it means to scores of families whose only support is the income from their investment in our company.”

“Mr. Herts,” replied Ryder unmoved, “I never allow sentiment to interfere with business.  You have heard my terms.  I refuse to argue the matter further.  What is it to be?  Five millions or competition?  Decide now or this interview must end!”

He took out his watch and with his other hand touched a bell.  Beads of perspiration stood on his visitor’s forehead.  In a voice broken with suppressed emotion he said hoarsely: 

“You’re a hard, pitiless man, John Ryder!  So be it—­five millions.  I don’t know what they’ll say.  I don’t dare return to them.”

“Those are my terms,” said Ryder coldly.  “The papers,” he added, “will be ready for your signature to-morrow at this time, and I’ll have a cheque ready for the entire amount.  Good-day.”

Mr. Bagley entered.  Ryder bowed to Herts, who slowly retired.  When the door had closed on him Ryder went back to his desk, a smile of triumph on his face.  Then he turned to his secretary: 

“Let Sergeant Ellison come up,” he said.