His worst anxiety was that if he were sent to the penitentiary, or adjudged a bankrupt, or both, he would probably lose the privilege of a seat on ’change, and that would close to him the most distinguished avenue of his prosperity here in Philadelphia for some time, if not forever.  At present, because of his complications, his seat had been attached as an asset, and he could not act.  Edward and Joseph, almost the only employees he could afford, were still acting for him in a small way; but the other members on ’change naturally suspected his brothers as his agents, and any talk that they might raise of going into business for themselves merely indicated to other brokers and bankers that Cowperwood was contemplating some concealed move which would not necessarily be advantageous to his creditors, and against the law anyhow.  Yet he must remain on ’change, whatever happened, potentially if not actively; and so in his quick mental searchings he hit upon the idea that in order to forfend against the event of his being put into prison or thrown into bankruptcy, or both, he ought to form a subsidiary silent partnership with some man who was or would be well liked on ’change, and whom he could use as a cat’s-paw and a dummy.

Finally he hit upon a man who he thought would do.  He did not amount to much—­had a small business; but he was honest, and he liked Cowperwood.  His name was Wingate—­Stephen Wingate—­and he was eking out a not too robust existence in South Third Street as a broker.  He was forty-five years of age, of medium height, fairly thick-set, not at all unprepossessing, and rather intelligent and active, but not too forceful and pushing in spirit.  He really needed a man like Cowperwood to make him into something, if ever he was to be made.  He had a seat on ’change, and was well thought of; respected, but not so very prosperous.  In times past he had asked small favors of Cowperwood—­the use of small loans at a moderate rate of interest, tips, and so forth; and Cowperwood, because he liked him and felt a little sorry for him, had granted them.  Now Wingate was slowly drifting down toward a none too successful old age, and was as tractable as such a man would naturally be.  No one for the time being would suspect him of being a hireling of Cowperwood’s, and the latter could depend on him to execute his orders to the letter.  He sent for him and had a long conversation with him.  He told him just what the situation was, what he thought he could do for him as a partner, how much of his business he would want for himself, and so on, and found him agreeable.

“I’ll be glad to do anything you say, Mr. Cowperwood,” he assured the latter.  “I know whatever happens that you’ll protect me, and there’s nobody in the world I would rather work with or have greater respect for.  This storm will all blow over, and you’ll be all right.  We can try it, anyhow.  If it don’t work out you can see what you want to do about it later.”