Ford drew a folded paper from his pocket and laid it on the table.

“I was merely quoting from the auditor’s semiannual report, of which that is a summary,” he said, indicating the folded paper.  “The report itself will doubtless reach you in a day or two.  It would seem to an unprejudiced observer that the present condition spells something like a receivership, unless you have the bondholders with you.”

“One moment, Mr. Ford,” interposed the banker member; but Ford was working up to his climax and refused to be side-tracked.

“Of course, as an officer of the company, I have felt in duty bound to bring my grist first to the company’s mill.  But if you gentlemen don’t wish to grind it, it will be ground, notwithstanding.  I could very easily have found a market for my proposal without coming to New York.”

With which parting shot, and a word of apology for having taken the time of the board to no good purpose, he bowed himself out, closing the door upon a second attempt on the part of the banker member to renew the argument.

VI

THE AWAKENING OF CHARLES EDWARD

Ford went directly to his hotel from the meeting in the Broad Street board room, paid his bill, and had himself shot up to the fifth floor to prepare for a swift retreat from the scene of his humiliating defeat.  It was hardly in keeping with his boast of persistence that he should suffer himself to be thus routed by a single reverse, however crushing.  But in a world where every problem contains its human factor, red wrath accounts for much that is otherwise unaccountable.

Ford was thoroughly and unreasoningly angry and disgusted when he began to fling his belongings into the small steamer trunk, and it was only natural that he should turn with a little brow-wrinkling of resentment when, a little later, Mr. Charles Edward Adair, following his card up to the fifth floor front, lounged good-naturedly into the room.

“Beg pardon, I’m sure,” said the intruder easily.  “Didn’t know you were busy.  I thought maybe you’d like to know the effect of your little double-headed bombshell, and I couldn’t be sure Uncle Sidney would take the trouble to tell you.”

Ford made no effort to conceal his contempt for the financial gods.

“I don’t imagine it will take you very long to tell it,” he retorted.  “Nothing short of a combined earthquake and volcanic eruption would have any effect upon that crowd.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong!” protested Adair.  “That shot of yours with the semiannual summary for a projectile stirred ’em up good.  It seems that Uncle Sidney and Hertford and Morelock—­they’re the executive committee, you know—­have had the auditor’s figures for some days, but they hadn’t thought it necessary to harrow the feelings of the other members of the board with the cataclysmic details.  So there was a jolly row.  Magnus wanted to know, top-loftily, why a small official from the farther end of the system should be the first to bring the news; and Mackie was so wrathy that he inadvertently put the hot end of his cigar in his mouth.  Even Connolly woke up enough to say that it was blanked bad politics.”