“Thank you,” said Ford.  “I may take you at your word,”—­and just then Mr. Colbrith rose in his place, fingering his thin white beard rather nervously, Ford thought, and rapping on the table for silence.

It was admitted on all hands that the president of the Pacific Southwestern was a careful man and a thrifty.  It was these qualities which had first determined his election.  There were many small stock-holders in the company, and it is the foible of small stock-holders to believe that rigid economy counts for more than adventurous outreachings in the larger field.

“Gentlemen,” he began, his high, raucous voice rasping the silence like the filing of a saw, “this meeting is called, as you have probably been informed, for the purpose of considering a plan for betterments submitted by Mr. Stuart Ford, who is at the present time superintendent of our Plug Mountain Division.

“In making this unusual innovation, and in introducing Mr. Ford, I desire to say that I have been actuated by that motive of prudence which, while it stands firmly upon its own feet, is willing to consider suggestions from without, even when these suggestions appear to be totally at variance with a policy of careful and judicious financiering.

“In presenting Mr. Ford as the son of an old friend, long since gone to his reward, I wish it distinctly understood that I am in no sense committed to his plan.  The policy of this company under the present administration has been uniformly cautious and prudent:  Mr. Ford would throw caution and prudence to the winds.  Our best efforts have been directed toward the saving of the ultimate dollar of expense:  Mr. Ford urges us to spend millions.  We have been trying to dispose of some of our non-paying branches:  Mr. Ford would have us acquire others and build new lines.”

While Mr. Colbrith was speaking, Adair was rapidly characterizing the members for Ford, checking them off upon his fingers.

“The little man at Uncle Sidney’s right is Mackie, and the miserly looking one next to him is McVeigh,” he whispered.  “One of them will furnish your coffin, and the other will drive the nails into it.  The big man with the beard is Brewster—­a multimillionaire; and the one who looks like Senator Bailey is Magnus, president of the Mohican National.  Connolly, the fat Irishman, is a politician—­wads of money, but not much interest in the game.  The other three—­”

But now the president had made an end and was beckoning to Ford.

The young engineer rose, feeling much as if a bucket of ice-water had been suddenly emptied down the back of his neck.  But one of his saving qualities was the spring-like resilience which responds instantly to a shock.  Spreading his papers on the table, he began with a little apology.

“I didn’t come here this morning prepared to make a promoter’s speech; and perhaps it is just as well, since my gift, if I have one, lies in doing things rather than in talking about them.  But I can lay a few facts before you which you may deem worthy of consideration.”