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 think of anything in particular that his wife had to forgive, and speculated, rather amusedly, on what it might be.

While Fay was still at breakfast next morning, George reached his desk and began his moral struggle. Temptation loomed large. The din of the factory had never been such sweet music in his ears; the walls had never looked to him such a noble monument to human endeavor; he had never wanted to retain control of Judson-Morris Motor Works as he wanted to retain it now, and he was about to lose that control. It was in this state of mind that bland, kindly Simon Mumford, in keeping his promise made the night before in the Hicksons' library, found George.

"How about it, George?" he asked in his blandest, his most coaxing tone, his fat, pink face shining like a beneficent new moon.

"Nothing doing!" said George bluntly.

But Simon still regarded him hopefully, appealingly, and with sympathy. "I am sure I could persuade Mrs. Gilman," he began to suggest.

"No wife's money in mine, Mr. Mumford, not a dollar." He lifted his hands and shook them, he shook his head, he shrugged a negative even with his shoulders.

"Well, I do be doggoned!" ejaculated Mumford in his thin, crackling voice. "Hum!" and