His eyes, usually glazed with a subtle haze, were now clear 
and brilliant. There was nothing of the nervous coward 
in him. He was almost jaunty in his appearance, a light- 
brownish-gray wool suit covering his body neatly, and a 
new fall brown derby hat setting squarely above his eyes. 
His formerly short mustache had become longer and silky. 
It was turned up in quite a distinguished manner about 
his cheeks. 
" I'd like to, Frank," replied Leigh. " I'll see what I 
can do. It depends on how the old man feels. He's in 
a fighting mood to-day. He smells blood." And he 
looked at Cowperwood grimly—quite as one fighting brave 
looks at another. 
Leigh, for all his friendship, was helping to hammer 
Cowperwood's stock, for from what he (Cowperwood) had 
said the night before and early this morning, he knew 
that his fellow-financier was hard pressed. He would 
probably go down, or be sheared of most of his holdings. 
Why should he refuse to help in this noble and profitable 
labor? Business was business. Still, in the face of this, 
if he could help him get a few days' grace on his loans, 
it would be all right. He did not object to doing that— 
rather wanted to for old sake's sake. 
" I can't get at the old man right now. He's in there 
talking to Ticknor. When he's through I'll talk to him. 
I'll send you word before two." 
Cowperwood went out not crestfallen, but brisk and 
determined. You would have thought by his shoulders 
that he had loaned somebody money at good interest, 
rather than that he had been begging for an extension 
of time. But he hadn't been begging it. He had been 
attempting to compel it. 
" Wonderful fellow that," said Leigh. "They'll never 
down him. He'll squirm out somehow." 
He waited thoughtfully for Ticknor to come out, and 
then stated Cowperwood's case to Francis Drexel, the 
head of the firm. The latter was a solidly built man of