“From Mr. Brady, who was interested enough to supply us with the sworn statements which you see here.”

“Do you really believe that I invested a penny of my money in that stock?”

“Come, Gorham, admit that the joke’s on you,” Litchfield laughed.  “Of course, it was your daughter who did it, and, of course, you knew nothing about it!—­Don’t try to hide behind her skirts.”

Gorham looked across to where Covington was sitting, pale and unnerved by the unexpected development.  He might have suspected this, but the remoteness of the chance had as a matter of fact precluded any thought of the possibility.  Gorham started to speak, but checked himself.  He could not bring his daughter’s name into this discussion without more time to consider the situation.  Then he turned again to his associates.

“Gentlemen,” he said, quietly, “it seems hardly necessary for me to make this statement, but I wish to put myself on record:  I have never invested one cent of my own money, or any one else’s, in any stock whose value was likely to be affected by the action of the Consolidated Companies.  No one else has ever done so with my knowledge or consent.  I shall have more to say upon this matter when I have had sufficient time to acquaint myself with all the facts.  Until then, I ask that this meeting be adjourned, subject to an early call.”

Litchfield, puzzled, as were the others, by Gorham’s flat denial in the face of the overwhelming evidence, put the motion for adjournment which the president requested.

XXVII

The bachelor apartment-house which Allen Sanford called his home in New York, though constantly referred to by him as his “two by twice hall bedroom,” was considerably more pretentious and expensive than a young man receiving his modest income would ordinarily have selected; yet when he decided upon it, the chief point in question was whether or not it suited his tastes.  The fact that the rent alone exceeded the salary assured him by his position in the Consolidated Companies did not strike him as of any particular significance.  He had sold his motor before leaving Washington, and with this nest-egg and what remained of his last allowance to draw upon, the necessity of economy had not occurred to him.  “I’ve eaten up the tires, and now I’m beginning on the chassis,” he had once remarked in conversation; but with characteristic confidence in the future, he made no provision for the time when he should have thoroughly fletcherized the entire machine.

Now that he had joined the army of the unemployed, and had decided to return to Pittsburgh, it was incumbent upon him to pack up his belongings.  This was a project which failed to appeal to him.  He had formally terminated his connection with the Consolidated Companies on the day before, and this Sunday morning had been set apart by him for his tremendous undertaking.  His trunks were in the middle of the floor, and his clothes deposited in various stages of disorder upon every chair in the room, preparatory to making the start toward packing which appalled him.  The empty drawers of the dresser and the chiffonnier, and the bare hooks of the closet bore silent tribute to the thoroughness of his work thus far.