“What’s the Ashuela willing to do?” he demanded.

I mentioned a sum, and he shook his head.  I mentioned another, and still he shook his head.

“Come ’round again,” he said...

I was compelled to report this alarming situation to Ogilvy and Dickinson and a few chosen members of a panicky board of directors.

“It’s that damned Grannis crowd,” said Dickinson, mentioning an aggressive gentleman who had migrated from Chicago to Wall Street some five years before in a pink collar.

“But what’s to be done?” demanded Ogilvy, playing nervously with a gold pencil on the polished table.  He was one of those Americans who in a commercial atmosphere become prematurely white, and today his boyish, smooth-shaven face was almost as devoid of colour as his hair.  Even Leonard Dickinson showed anxiety, which was unusual for him.

“You’ve got to fix it, Hugh,” he said.

I did not see my way, but I had long ago learned to assume the unruffled air and judicial manner of speaking that inspires the layman with almost superstitious confidence in the lawyer....

“We’ll find a way out,” I said.

Mr. Jason, of course, held the key to the situation, and just how I was to get around him was problematical.  In the meantime there was the public:  to permit the other fellow to capture that was to be lacking in ordinary prudence; if its votes counted for nothing, its savings were desirable; and it was fast getting into a state of outrage against monopoly.  The chivalry of finance did not permit of a revelation that Mr. Grannis and his buccaneers were behind the Automatic, but it was possible to direct and strengthen the backfire which the Era and other conservative newspapers had already begun.  Mr. Tallant for delicate reasons being persona non grata at the Boyne Club, despite the fact that he had so many friends there, we met for lunch in a private room at the new hotel, and as we sipped our coffee and smoked our cigars we planned a series of editorials and articles that duly appeared.  They made a strong appeal to the loyalty of our citizens to stand by the home company and home capital that had taken generous risks to give them service at a time when the future of the telephone business was by no means assured; they belittled the charges made by irresponsible and interested “parties,” and finally pointed out, not without effect, that one logical consequence of having two telephone companies would be to compel subscribers in self-defence to install two telephones instead of one.  And where was the saving in that?

“Say, Paret,” said Judah B. when we had finished our labours; “if you ever get sick of the law, I’ll give you a job on the Era’s staff.  This is fine, the way you put it.  It’ll do a lot of good, but how in hell are you going to handle Judd?....”

For three days the inspiration was withheld.  And then, as I was strolling down Boyne Street after lunch gazing into the store windows it came suddenly, without warning.  Like most inspirations worth anything, it was very simple.  Within half an hour I had reached Monahan’s saloon and found Mr. Jason out of bed, but still in his bedroom, seated meditatively at the window that looked over the alley.