The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-01-20
s lane Cable 3
 GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON. Author of Beverly of Graustark."
 , COPYRIGHT. 1906. BY DoDD. e~ COMPANY }
(Continued.l
Author of Beverly of Graustark." Etc

as his struggles became harder. What little money he had accumulated en alone knew how he came by it. tual squalor when later Bansemer found him in an attic in Baltimore Even as he engaged the half starved wretch to become his confdential clerk the lawyer shuddered and almost re- pented of his action.
 But Elias broom was worth his. weight in gold to James Bansemer from that day forth. His employers sole aim in life was to get rich and thereby to achieve power. His ambi- ton was laudable if one accepts the creed of morals, but his methods were not so praiseworthy. After year or two of starvation struggles to get on with the legitimate he packed up his scruples and laid them away-tempo- rarily, he said He resorted to sharp practice, knavery and all the forms of legal blackmail. It was not long be- fore his bank account began to swell. His business thriyed. He was so clev- CT that not one of his shady proceed | 99 per cent of the people who were bilked through his manipulations prom ised in the heat of virtuous wrath to expose him. but he had learned to smile in security. He knew that ex- posture for him meant humiliation for the instigator, and he continued to rest easy while he worked hard.
 You're getting rich at this sort of thing" observed broom one day after the lawyer had closed particularly nauseous deal to his own satisfaction, "but what are you going to do when the tide turns P
 Bansemer, irritated on perceiying that the other was engaged in his exasper- ating habit of rubbing his hands to- gether, did not answer, but merely thundered out, "Will you stop thatY'
 There was a faint suggestion of the possibility of transition of the hands to claws as Broom abruptly desisted, but smilingly went on:
 Some day the other shark will get the better of you, and you'll have noth- ing to fall back on. You've been build ing on mighty slim foundations. There isn't sign of support if the worst comes to the worst" he chuckled.
 its large world, Droom," said his employer easily.
 "And small also according to another saying" supplemented broom. When mans down. every body kicks him. I'm afraid you could not survive the kicking"
 broom grinned so diabolically as again he resumed the rubbing of his hands that the other turned away, with an oath, and closed the door to the in- side office. Bansemer was alone and but something told him that the grin hung outside the door for many min utes, as if waiting for chance to pop in and tantalize him.
 Bansemer was a good looking man of the cOarSer mold-the kind of man that merits second look in passing, and the second look is not always in his favor. He was thirty five years of age, but looked older. His face was hard and deeply marked with the lines of in- tensity. The black eyes were fascinat- ing in their brilliancy, but there was cruel, savage light in their depths. The nose and mouth were clean cut and pitiless in their very symmetry. Short ly after leaving college to hang out his shingle he had married the daughter of a minister. For two years her sweet influence kept his efforts along the righteous path, but he writhed beneath the yoke of poverty. His pride suffered because he was unable to provide her with more of the luxuries of life. In his selfish way he loved her. Failure to advance made him surly and ill tenn pered, despite her amiable efforts to tighten the shadows around their little home. When the baby boy was born to them and she suffered more and more from the unkindness of privation James Bansemer, by nature an aggres- sor, threw off restraint and plunged into the traffic that soon made him in- famously successful She died, how ever, before the taint of his duplicity touched her, and he, even in his grief, felt thankful that she never was to know the truth.
 At this time Bansemer lived in com fort at one of the middle class board ing houses uptown, and the boy was just leaving the kindergarten for a private school. Bansemer's calloused heart had one tender chamber, and in it dwelt the little lad with the fair hair and gray eyes of the woman who had died.
 Late one November afternoon just before Bansemer put on his light top coat to leave the office for the day broom tapped on the glass panel of the door to his private office. Usually the clerk communicated with him by signal, floor button by which he could acquaint his master with much that he ought to know, and the visitor in the outer office would be none the wiser. The occasions were rare when he went so far as to tap on the door. Bansemer was puzzled and stealthily listened for sounds from the other side Suddenly there came to his ears the voices of women, mingled with Drooms suppressed but always raul cous tones.
 Bansemer opened the door. Looking into the outer office, he saw broom swaying before two women, rubbing his hands and smiling. One of the q L