"If I cannot satisfy any reasonable man of the fact I state, I am willing to fail.

I ought to fail." With a bow, he turned to the door.
Something in Keith's assurance went further with the shrewd-eyed capitalist than his politeness had done.

He shot a swift glance as he was retiring toward the door.
"Why didn't Wickersham make money down there ?" he demanded, half in query, half in denial, gazing keenly over his gold-rimmed glasses.

"He usually makes money, even if others lose it." Mr.Creamer had his own reasons for not liking Wickersham.
Keith was standing at the door.
"For two or three reasons.

One was that he underestimated the people who live down there, and thought he could force them into selling him their lands, and so lost the best properties there." "The lands you have, I suppose ?" said the banker, looking again at Keith quickly.
"Yes, the lands I have, though you don't believe it," said Keith, looking him calmly in the eyes.
The banker was gazing at the young man ironically; but, as he observed him, his credulity began to give way.
That stamp of truth which men recognize was written on him unmistakably.
Mr.Creamer's mind worked quickly.
"By the way, you came from down there.