"You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Hugh,  how  this  thing  is  being
manipulated,"  he  declared  at  Tom's  one  Sunday  evening;
"there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  the  Ribblevale  Steel
Company  —  it  was  as  right  as  rain  before  Leonard  Dickin-
son and  Grierson  and  Scherer  and  that  crowd  you  train  with
began  to  talk  it  down  at  the  Club.  Oh,  they're  very  com-
passionate. I've  heard  'em.  Dickinson,  privately,  doesn't
think  much  of  Ribblevale  paper,  and  Pugh"  (the  president
of  the  Ribblevale)  "  seems  worried  and  looks  badly.  It's  all
very  clever,  but  I'd  hate  to  tell  you  in  plain  words  what  I'd
call  it."

"  Go  ahead,"  I  challenged  him  audaciously.  "  You  haven't
any  proof  that  the  Ribblevale  wasn't  in  trouble."

"I  heard  Mr.  Pugh  tell  my  father  the  other  day  it  was  a
d — d  outrage.  He  couldn't  catch  up  with  these  rumours,
and  some  of  his  stockholders  were  liquidating."

"You  don't  suppose  Pugh  would  want  to  admit  his  situ-
ation, do  you?"  I  asked.
A  FAR  COUNTEY  145

"Pugh's  a  straight  man,"  retorted  Perry.  "That's  more
than  I  can  say  for  any  of  the  other  gang,  saving  your  presence.
The  unpleasant  truth  is  that  Scherer  and  the  Boyne  people
want  the  Ribblevale,  and  you  ought  to  know  it  if  you  don't."
He  looked  at  me  very  hard  through  the  glasses  he  had
lately  taken  to  wearing.  Tom,  who  was  lounging  by
the  fire,  shifted  his  position  uneasily.  I  smiled,  and  took
another  cigar.
