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fantasy that that was the way he had been. Envy, mourning over one’s lost youth, might bring a momentary hatred of the young, vital Jasper, but with it was a stronger faith in his project, in his proposals, for there was the nostalgic self-identification through memory with a young and able and bold man.
    And that was all that mattered now to Jasper. Faith, belief from men with money—to be delicately, shrewdly nurtured along toward the investment point during many a talk, many a discussion, first in the formality of their offices, then in the more personal and always reassuring atmosphere of Jasper’s apartment, or at one of his clubs.
    Personal, intimate equations of life mattered too, yes, but on a lesser, remoter plane. Two years ago he had moved into virtual bachelorhood. He dined occasionally with Beth, sent her flowers on anniversaries. But he knew that he would never go back to her, emotionally or physically. He simply could not bond himself to the steady, time-filling demands of the usual marriage. There was the other reason, too.
    He knew she was still resentful that he had moved out. But she was, at least, apparently adjusted to it. She no longer said things about the uselessness of beating against his will. She no longer told him, in her quiet, brownish voice, that she felt an implacable thing in him, and that she knew it was his need for fame and power.
    He knew what she meant. But he himself phrased it differently. He thought of it as a principle of the deepest humanity, the desire to make the world a better, finer, freer place. To be effective in that desire one needed a voice, an audience. The most convincing and brilliant talk to a small group of stragglers around a soapbox would achieve nothing. For him, he had to fight largely, noticeably.
    The two estimates of the implacable thing in Jasper Crown were both true. The two overlapped, interwove, intermarried. If you responded to him, trusted him, you called the thing by one set of names; if you disliked him, mistrusted him, you used the other set. It was fairly easy to make a case for either.
    Now, staring silently with cold brown eyes at Timothy Grosvenor, the implacable thing drove him on to his decision.
    Grosvenor was a Westerner by birth, the son of a well-to-do Nevada lawyer with stock in silver mines and a large divorce practice as well. Timothy had gone into radio in the early days and managed quite a success on his own. There was something hearty in his plump and ruddy face that people responded to, though Crown himself was irritated by it. But he admitted that Tim had worked hard, incessantly, to raise money, to produce ideas. He had been effective, more so than half the cohorts and supporters of the new project. Crown had felt sure of his loyalties; so sure that he had encouraged Tim virtually to retire from the active management of his own station, until the time came when the newly formed company bought it. The purchase deal was generous—Tim and his stockholders were delighted with it. It was clear that this was the greatest opportunity for Tim himself. He was to be Executive Vice-President of the new Jasper Crown Network.
    In early March had come the first trouble.
    Mandreth, Drake, and Niles, Investments, was considering an investment of five hundred thousand dollars. Jacques Mandreth had written Tim a letter in which he spoke of “your venture,” “your plans,” “your company,” “your personal assurance.” It was clearly an almost-dotted-line letter. With pleasure and a gleam of triumph, Tim had turned it over to Jasper, watched his face as he read.
    “Swell, Tim. Oh, good boy. This is the business, all right,” Jasper had said immediately. Already, though, as he spoke the warm words, the question was forming in his mind.
    “It’s the plan for splitting the foreign coverage, I think, Jas,” Tim said with satisfaction, “that got to him. He could see that—he could imagine Ford or Du Pont or General Foods paying millions