In the great field of armed politics in Europe, every now and again there arises a situation which everybody agrees must inevitably result in war. Yet just when the newspapers have reached their highest state of excitement, and “sensational incidents” and “significant occurrences” are crowding one another in the hurly-burly of alarmist despatches with utmost impressiveness, somehow the cloud passes away, and the sun comes out again—and nothing has happened.

The sun did not precisely shine for Horace Boyce in the weeks which now ensued, but at least the crisis that had threatened to engulf him was curiously delayed. Mr. Tenney did not even ask him, on that dreaded Monday, what decision he had arrived at. A number of other Mondays went by, and still no demand was made upon him to announce his choice. On the few occasions when he met his father’s partner, it was the pleasure of that gentleman to talk on other subjects.

The young man began to regain his equanimity. The February term of Oyer and Terminer had come and gone, and Horace was reasonably satisfied with the forensic display he had made. It would have been much better, he knew, if he had not been worried about the other thing; but, as it was, he had won two of the four cases in which he appeared, had got on well with the judge, who invited him to dinner at the Dearborn House, and had been congratulated on his speeches by quite a number of lawyers. His foothold in Thessaly was established.

Matters about the office had not gone altogether to his liking, it was true. For some reason, Reuben seemed all at once to have become more distant and formal with him. Horace could not dream that this arose from the discoveries his partner had made at the milliner’s shop, and so put the changed demeanor down vaguely to Reuben’s jealousy of his success in court. He was sorry that this was so, because he liked Reuben personally, and the silly fellow ought to be glad that he had such a showy and clever partner, instead of sulking. Horace began to harbor the notion that a year of this partnership would probably be enough for him.

The Citizens’ Club had held two meetings, and Horace felt that the manner in which he had presided and directed the course of action at these gatherings had increased his hold upon the town. Nearly fifty men had now joined the club, and next month they were to discuss the question of a permanent habitation. They all seemed to like him as president, and nebulous thoughts about being the first mayor of Thessaly, when the village should get its charter, now occasionally floated across the young man’s mind.

He had called at the Minster house on each Tuesday since that conversation with Miss Kate, and now felt himself to be on terms almost intimate with the whole household. He could not say, even to himself, that his suit had progressed much; but Miss Kate seemed to like him, and her mother, whom he also had seen at other times on matters of business, was very friendly indeed.

Thus affairs stood with the rising young lawyer at the beginning of March, when he one day received a note sent across by hand from Mr. Tenney, asking him to come over at once to the Dearborn House, and meet him in a certain room designated by number.

Horace was conscious of some passing surprise that Tenney should make appointments in private rooms of the local hotel, but as he crossed the street to the old tavern and climbed the stairs to the apartment named, it did not occur to him that the summons might signify that the crisis which had darkened the first weeks of February was come again.

He found Tenney awaiting him at the door, and after he had perfunctorily shaken hands with him, discovered that there was another man inside, seated at the table in the centre of the parlor, under the chandelier. This man was past middle-age, and both his hair and the thick, short beard which covered his chin and throat were nearly white. Horace noted first that his long upper lip was shaven, and this grated upon him afresh as one of the least lovely of provincial American customs. Then he observed that this man had eyes like Tenney’s in expression, though they were blue instead of gray; and as this resemblance came to him, Tenney spoke:

“Judge Wendover, this is the young man we’ve been talking about—Mr. Horace Boyce, son of my partner, the General, you know.”

The mysterious New Yorker had at last appeared on the scene, then. He did not look very mysterious, or very metropolitan either, as he rose slowly and reached his hand across the table for Horace to shake. It was a fat and inert hand, and the Judge himself, now that he stood up, was seen to be also fat and dumpy in figure, with a bald head, noticeably high at the back of the skull, and a loose, badly fitted suit of clothes.

“Sit down,” he said to Horace, much as if that young man had been a stenographer called in to report a conversation. Horace took the chair indicated, not over pleased.

“I haven’t got much time,” the Judge continued, speaking apparently to the papers in front of him. “There’s a good deal to do, and I’ve got to catch that 5.22 train.”

“New Yorkers generally do have to catch trains,” remarked Horace. “So far as I could see, the few times I’ve been there of late years, that is always the chief thing on their minds.”

Judge Wendover looked at the young man for the space of a second, and then turned to Tenney and said abruptly:

“I suppose he knows how the Thessaly Mfg. Company stands? How it’s stocked?” He pronounced the three letters with a slurring swiftness, as if to indicate that there was not time enough for the full word “manufacturing.”

Horace himself answered the question: “Yes, I know. You represent two hundred and twenty-five to my clients’ one hundred and seventy-five.” The young man held himself erect and alert in his chair, and spoke curtly.

“Just so. The capital is four hundred thousand dollars—all paid up. Well, we need that much more to go on.”

“How ‘go on’? What do you mean?”

“There’s a new nail machine just out which makes our plant worthless. To buy that, and make the changes, will cost a round four hundred thousand dollars. Get hold of that machine, and we control the whole United States market; fail to get it, we go under. That’s the long and short of it. That’s why we sent for you.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Horace, “but I don’t happen to have four hundred thousand dollars with me just at the moment. If you’d let me known earlier, now.”

The Judge looked............