a little while exactly what you want to know. Of course, 
it's always better if we have full information. You suit 
yourself about that. Tell me as much or as little as 
you please, and I'll guarantee that we will do our best 
to serve you, and that you will be satisfied afterward. 
You tell me now or not, just as you choose. It's all the 
same to us." 
He smiled genially. 
Butler felt, all things considered, that he was in the hands 
of a rather fair man. Like most men of affairs, Cowper- 
wood included, he was mistrustful of people in general, 
looking on them as aimless forces rather than as self- 
regulating bodies, though he was nevertheless religious- 
minded. Nothing save the will of God could save any- 
body in the long run, Butler thought; but you were in 
duty bound to help God by helping yourself. Such was 
his philosophy. The devil represented all untoward 
forces within and without ourselves which made people— 
weak elements—do the strange things they did. He 
could not have explained life any better than that; but 
in a rough way he felt that he was serving God when he 
did his best to punish Cowperwood and save Aileen. 
" Well, that beM' the case," said Butler, finally taking 
the leap, with many mental reservations, however, "I'll 
be plain with you. My name's not Scanlon. It's 
Butler. I live in Philadelphy. There's a man there, a 
banker by the name of Cowperwood—Frank A. Cowper- 
"Wait a moment," said Martinson, drawing an ample 
pad out of his pocket and producing a lead-pencil; "I 
want to get that. How do you spell it ?" 
Butler told him. 
"Yes; now go on." 
"He has a place in Third Street—Frank A. Cowper- 
wood—any one can show you where it is. He's just 
failed there recently." 
"Oh, that's the man," interpolated Martinson. "I've