THE FINANCIER 
sure Stener in this hour. The banker was too young, too 
new. Mollenhauer was older, richer. So was Simpson; 
so was Butler. These men, with their wealth, represented 
the big forces, the big standards in his world as yet. 
Mollenhauer's word, as long as he, Stener, had been 
dealing with Cowperwood, and as much as he had pros- 
pered, was still a law to him. And besides, Cowperwood 
confessed that he was in great danger—that he was in a 
corner. That was the worst possible confession to make 
to Stener—although under the circumstances it was the 
only one that could be made—for he had no courage to 
face danger. 
So he sat beside Cowperwood meditating—pale, flaccid, 
unable to see the main line of his interests quickly, unable 
to follow them definitely, surely, vigorously—while they 
drove to his office. Cowperwood entered it with him for 
the sake of continuing his plea. 
"Well, George," he said, earnestly, " I wish you'd tell 
me. Time's short. We haven't a moment to lose. Give 
me the money, won't you, and I'll get out of this quick. 
We haven't a moment, I tell you. Don't let those people 
frighten you off. They're playing their own little game; 
you play yours." 
"I can't, Frank," said Stener, finally, very weakly, his 
sense of his own financial future, successful and wonder- 
ful, overcome for the time being by the thought of Mol- 
lenhauer's hard, controlling face. The latter was his 
political God. He (Stener) was but one among many ser- 
vitors. " I'll have to think. I can't do it right now. 
Strobik was just in here, and—" 
"Good God, George," exclaimed Cowperwood, scorn- 
fully, " don't talk about Strobik ! What's he got to do 
with it? Think of yourself. Think of where you will 
be. It's your future—not Strobik's—that you have to 
think of." 
"I know, Frank," persisted Stener, weakly; "but, 
really, I don't see how I can. Honestly I don't. You 
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