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The banker was silent for quite a long time.

“If there wasn’t something awful about that,” he said at last, “it would be very funny.”

The officer who had ushered Brett into the saloon appeared at the door.

“Well?” said Merriman curtly.

“There’s a gentleman,” said the officer, “who wants to come aboard. He says you are expecting him. But as you only mentioned one gentleman–“

“Yes, yes,” said Merriman, “I’m expecting this other gentleman, too.”

He turned to Brett.

“I am going to ask you to remain,” he said, “to assist at a conference on the present state of the market between yourself, and myself, and my arch-enemy–Mr. Waters.”

III

Even if Brett should live to be a distinguished financier himself–which is not likely–he will never forget that midnight conference on board the Sappho. He had supposed that famous men–unless they were dead statesmen–thought only of themselves, and how they might best and most easily increase their own power and wealth. He had believed with the rest of the smaller Wall Street interests that the present difficulties were the result of a private feud. Instead of this he now saw that the supposed quarrellers had forgotten their differences, and were in the closest kind of an alliance to save the situation. He discovered that until prices had fallen fifty points neither of them had been in the market to any significant extent; and that, to avert the appalling calamities which seemed imminent, both were ready if necessary to impoverish themselves or to take unusual risks of so doing. He learned the real causes of the panic, so far as these were not hidden from Merriman and Waters themselves, and when at last the two men decided what should be attempted, to what strategic points they should send re-enforcements, and just what assistance they should ask the Secretary of the Treasury to furnish, Brett felt that he had seen history in the making.

Waters left the Sappho at one in the morning, and Brett was for going, too, but Merriman laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder and asked him to remain for a few moments.

“Now, my son,” he said, “you see how the panic has affected some of the so-called big interests. It may be that Waters and I can’t do very much. But it will be good for you to remember that we tried; it will make you perhaps see others in a more tolerant light. But for purposes of conversation you will, of course, forget that you have been here. Now, as to your own affairs–“

Mr. Merriman looked old and tired, but very indulgent and kind.

“Knowing what I know now,” said Brett, “I would rather take my chances with the other little fools who have made so much trouble for you and Mr. Waters. If your schemes work out I’ll be saved in spite of myself; and if they don’t–well, I hope I’ve learned not to be so great a fool again.”

“In every honest young man,” said Merriman, “there is something of the early Christian–he is very noble and very silly. Write your name and telephone number on that sheet of paper. At least, you won’t refuse orders from me in the morning. Waters and I will have to use many brokers to-morrow, of whom I hope you will consent to be one.”

Brett hung his head in pleasure and shame. Then he looked Mr. Merriman in the face with a bright smile.

“If you’ve got to help some private individual, Mr. Merriman, I’d rather you didn’t make it me; I’d rather you made it old man Callender. If he goes under now he’ll never get to the top again.”

“Not Samuel B. Callender?” said Merriman, with a note of surprise and very real interest in his voice. “Is he in trouble? I didn’t know. Why, that will never do–a fine old fighting character like that–and besides … why, wouldn’t you have thought that he would have come to me himself or that at least he would have confided in my son Jim?”

Brett winced.

Merriman wrote something upon a card and handed it to Brett.

“Can you see that he gets that?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Brett.

“Tell him, then, to present it at my office the first thing in the morning. It will get him straight to me. I can’t stand idle and see the father of the girl my boy is going to marry ruined.”

“I didn’t know–” said Brett. He was very white, and his lips trembled in spite of his best efforts to control them. “I congratulate you, sir. She is very lovely,” he added.

Mr. Merriman regarded the miserable young man quizzically.

“But,” he said, “Mr. Callender has three daughters.”

“Oh, no,” said Brett dismally, “there is only the one.”

“My boy,” said Mr. Merriman, “I am afraid that you are an incorrigible plunger–at stocks, at romance, and at conclusions. I don’t know if I am going to comfort you or give you pain, but the girl my son is going to marry is Mary Callender.”

The color returned to Brett’s cheek and the sparkle to his eyes. He grasped Mr. Merriman by both hands, and in a confidential voice he said:

“Mr. Merriman, there is no such person.”