Eckstein laughed.

“You forget that I’m only a clerk, and an onlooker, as you may say.  But if you accept MacMorrogh’s bid, and he doesn’t do the square thing by you and Mr. Frisbie, you may call me in as a witness, Mr. Ford.  Does that clear up the doubt?”

“Perfectly,” was the quiet rejoinder.  “Under these conditions, I suppose it is up to me to wire the executive committee, withdrawing my objections to the MacMorroghs, isn’t it?”

“That is the one thing Mr. MacMorrogh asks.”  The secretary whipped out a note-book and pencil.  “Shall I take your message?  I can send it when I go back to the office.”

“Thank you,” said Ford; then he began to dictate, slowly and methodically:  “To S.J.  Colbrith, care McVeigh and Mackie, New York.  This is to recall my objections to MacMorrogh Brothers, as stated in letter of the twenty-fifth from Chicago.  Further investigation develops the fact that they are quite honest and capable, and that they will pay me ten thousand dollars a year for withdrawing my opposition.”

Eckstein’s pencil had stopped and he was gasping for breath.

“Great Scott!” he ejaculated.  “That won’t do, Mr. Ford!  You can’t put a thing like that into a telegram to the president!”

[Illustration:  Eckstein’s pencil had stopped and he was gasping for breath]

“Why not?” was the cool inquiry.  “You said it was perfectly legitimate, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—­” the entrance of a waiter to clear the table provided a merciful stop-gap, and Eckstein, hurriedly consulting his watch, switched abruptly.  “By Jove!  I’m due at the office this minute to meet a lot of cattlemen,” he stammered, and escaped like a man hastening for first aid to the mistaken.

Ford laughed long and silently when he found himself alone in the private dining-room; and he was still chuckling by fits and starts when, after an afternoon spent with Auditor Evans, he recounted his adventure to Frisbie over the Brown cafe dinner table that evening.  But Frisbie took all the humor out of the luncheon episode when he said soberly: 

“He laughs best who laughs last, Stuart.  Eckstein took a fall out of you one way, even if he did fail in the other; he kept you safely shut up at Tortoni’s while Mr. North and the chief of the MacMorroghs got away on a special train for New York.  Beard, the Union Station operator, told me.  Which means that they’ll have a full day with Mr. Colbrith and the executive committee before you can possibly get there to butt in.”

“No, it doesn’t; necessarily,” Ford contradicted, rising suddenly and signaling a waiter.

“What are you going to do?” queried Frisbie, dropping his knife and fork and preparing to second his chief.

“Come and see.  I’m going to get out another special train and give Mr. North a run for his money,” was the incisive answer.  “Hike down to the despatcher’s office with me and help cut out the minutes.”