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 whole life, his whole philosophy, his whole decency, was a rough fact reduced to rough order. A simple man, he did not practice that maddening and useless mental stenography known to the elect as analytical psychology. He never dissected either his own or other people's emotions. Always had he believed that every question in life could, and should, be answered by a simple yes, or an as simple no; and once the answer, positive or negative, was given, it had to stand.

Thus, when he had gone back to bed that night, he felt disturbed in his equanimity.

For the anonymous telephone message had recalled to him Martin Wedekind's spoken and cabled warning not to sell the mine in the Hoodoos, and Martin was his good friend, had proved himself his good friend, besides being the father of the girl he loved.

On the other hand, he had led Baron von Götz-Wrede to believe that it was his intention to part with the property; and so here he was face to face with a moral dilemma which, to his simple, clean-cut conscience, threatened to assume very grave proportions.

He was, therefore, agreeably surprised when the next morning at precisely ten o'clock the German officer called on him and waved the whole perturbing question away with a negligent gesture of his gloved