"You will do it, or I will sell you out," he said coldly.
"You cannot. You promised to carry that stock for me till I could pay up the margins."
"Write me that letter, or I will turn you out of your pulpit. You know what will happen if I tell what I know of you."
The other man's face turned white.
"You would not be so base."
Wickersham rose and buttoned up his coat.
"It will be in the papers day after to-morrow."
"Wait," gasped Rimmon. "I will see what I can say." He poured a drink out of the decanter, and gulped it down. Then he seized a pen and a sheet of paper and began to write. He wrote with care.
"Will this do?" he asked tremulously.
"Yes."