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though this might easily be commuted by the governor, once public excitement died down. He
did not trouble to think whether Cowperwood was criminally involved or not. A hundred to one
he was not. Trust a shrewd man like that to take care of himself. But if there was any way to
shoulder the blame on to Cowperwood, and so clear the treasurer and the skirts of the party, he
would not object to that. He wanted to hear the full story of Stener's relations with the broker
first. Meanwhile, the thing to do was to seize what Stener had to yield.
The troubled city treasurer, on being shown in Mr. Mollenhauer's presence, at once sank feebly
in a chair and collapsed. He was entirely done for mentally. His nerve was gone, his courage
exhausted like a breath.
"Well, Mr. Stener?" queried Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, pretending not to know what brought
him.
"I came about this matter of my loans to Mr. Cowperwood."
"Well, what about them?"
"Well, he owes me, or the city treasury rather, five hundred thousand dollars, and I understand
that he is going to fail and that he can't pay it back."
"Who told you that?"
"Mr. Sengstack, and since then Mr. Cowperwood has been to see me. He tells me he must
have more money or he will fail and he wants to borrow three hundred thousand dollars more.
He says he must have it."
"So!" said Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, and with an air of astonishment which he did not feel.
"You would not think of doing that, of course. You're too badly involved as it is. If he wants to
know why, refer him to me. Don't advance him another dollar. If you do, and this case comes to
trial, no court would have any mercy on you. It's going to be difficult enough to do anything for
you as it is. However, if you don't advance him any more--we will see. It may be possible, I can't
say, but at any rate, no more money must leave the treasury to bolster up this bad business. It's
much too difficult as it now is." He stared at Stener warningly. And he, shaken and sick, yet
because of the faint suggestion of mercy involved somewhere in Mollenhauer's remarks, now
slipped from his chair to his knees and folded his hands in the uplifted attitude of a devotee
before a sacred image.
"Oh, Mr. Mollenhauer," he choked, beginning to cry, "I didn't mean to do anything wrong. Strobik
and Wycroft told me it was all right. You sent me to Cowperwood in the first place. I only did
what I thought the others had been doing. Mr. Bode did it, just like I have been doing. He dealt
with Tighe and Company. I have a wife and four children, Mr. Mollenhauer. My youngest boy is
only seven years old. Think of them, Mr. Mollenhauer! Think of what my arrest will mean to
them! I don't want to go to jail. I didn't think I was doing anything very wrong--honestly I didn't. I'll
give up all I've got. You can have all my stocks and houses and lots--anything--if you'll only get
me out of this. You won't let 'em send me to jail, will you?"
His fat, white lips were trembling--wabbling nervously--and big hot tears were coursing down his
previously pale but now flushed cheeks. He presented one of those almost unbelievable
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