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Consolidated isn't what you'd call gilt edged just now, and the corners are knocked off our reputation as business men. I just mention this in case you feel aggrieved." Clark grinned suddenly. "I'm not worrying either about my stock or my business reputation. Your difficulty is that you don't see why any one else should pull through where we didn't." Wimperley nodded. "There's something in that.
Distinguishing the multitude of notes that lifted their booming uproar, he yielded to the sensation that he was in the midst of them, being carried to the sea. To-night they seemed relentless, but that again was the reflection of his mood. If he was going down, Wimperley and the rest were going with him.
"I suppose so and there'll be hell to pay in St. Marys, eh, Wimperley? Our friend the chief constable will be working over time. Remember the beggar? The damn fool was right too." "Yes, it's all right," said Wimperley, "and now I suppose there'll be writs and injunctions enough to fill the tailrace. We'd better get out and arrange some support for the market.
He realized, also, that instead of all this discussion, Wimperley might simply have notified him that he was discharged, and that the new interests would now take over. But Wimperley had done nothing of the kind.
The visitors played with the congealing mutton, poked at forbidding potatoes, absorbed large quantities of scalding tea and then hastened back to the big stove. Belding felt a hand on his shoulder. "It's my fault. We should have let them go to the hotel. I suppose we're used to it, they're not." Presently, Wimperley began to yawn. "I'm going to bed."
"I'm thinking about one R.F.C.," came back Riggs reflectively, "just like the rest of you." "Well," sounded the dry voice of Birch, "so am I. And all this is very apropos. It illustrates the general condition of affairs, especially that mess of trout you had on the moss a while ago. We're all trout, we and the shareholders. You, Wimperley, are that five pounder.
But Manson was only a leaf picked up by the edge of the storm in which Clark sat, its unapproachable center. The telegram compiled by Birch and signed by Wimperley, as president, was on his desk, just as the secretary had laid it before he went silently out, unable to meet the mystifying glance of those gray eyes.
"Except one called Robert Fisher Clark. As a first consequence our stocks drop on the Philadelphia exchange like a wet sponge. You can imagine the rest -you all know enough about the market, and, by the way, does any one happen to remember the various things we have publicly said about that same individual?" This was food for thought. Wimperley, dismissing the idea of lunch, sat down.
Wimperley and the others were able men as far as they went, but just as they had always loitered behind his imagination, so now would they be slow in deciphering the riddle in store. He had brought them in, and it would be left for him to bring others in also. Very easily he visualized what had taken place in Philadelphia, and the group in Wimperley's office stood out quite clearly.
Consequence is Clark is buying sulphur, and just now pulp prices are so low he's not making anything out of it." "Have you seen Wimperley lately?" "He was up with Birch a week or so ago." "Say anything particular?" Brewster smiled reflectively. "He didn't seem to want to talk." "What are the obligations?" asked Thorpe after a little pause. "Of all companies?" "Of course."