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Just as he was reaching for his hat, the door opened and a telegram was brought in. Wimperley took it carelessly. He was too full of relief to be interested in anything else and experienced a gratified glow in that he had spoken what was in his mind and been upheld. Then, glancing at the telegram, his face changed and he felt his temples redden.
They glanced into the woods as though there were still mysterious treasures waiting to be revealed at a wave of the hand of this magician. Presently Wimperley straightened up. He had been going through a strange searching of soul while his gaze wandered from the glistening rock at his feet to Clark's keen face.
The vision was still clear and sharp when he reached Philadelphia, reinspired by a series of swift calculations that were as swiftly stowed away for suitable use in his retentive brain. There were also three names Wimperley, Riggs, and Stoughton. The morning after he arrived he went to see the first of his prospects.
There was in his mind the talk he had with Wimperley, a few months before. "We're in your hands," he had said, "but there's a limit to what we can raise. Push on with work and don't forget about dividends." Remembering it, Clark smiled. The dividends might be delayed a year or so, but when they came it would be in a flood like the rapids.
"We're outside the charmed circle down here, but when we get up there," he waved his hand, while the end of his cigar glowed like a miniature volcano, "we get locoed, the whole bunch of us." "And yet," said Birch reflectively, "there's nothing the matter." Wimperley leaned forward. "Go on." "It's simple enough, we're not using Clark properly." "Isn't seven millions proper?" boomed Stoughton.
We used up all our arguments long ago. Philadelphia doesn't want a mortgage on Robert Fisher, and what about the Pennsylvania farmer?" "What about him?" asked Wimperley pettishly. "As I know him, he's a bad loser he works too hard for it. This is a case of new money from outside, and I for one don't feel like doing any traveling."
"I suppose I will. When do we go?" "Will a week from to-day suit?" They all made it suit. After a contemplative moment Riggs asked: "Will you let him know, Wimperley, and just what do you propose to say? You'll remember there have been other times when we contemplated putting the brakes on, but we all got galvanized and the thing didn't work."
This is part of our concession secured from the provincial government and I want you to walk over just a little of it. As directors you ought to." "Come on," said Wimperley under his breath. "It's the last chapter, he's nearly dry." The trail was narrow and newly cut.
Then, too, they learned that that morning the stock of the Consolidated companies had leaped forward in one of those unexpected boosts for which it was noted. Wimperley and the rest of them had never gambled in it, but time and time again it moved as though animated by the spread of secret and definite information.
You can have one or two of the subsidiary companies but not the whole darn thing, and " "The point is," cut in Wimperley, "that we're afraid of you. We've not paid a dividend and, as things go, there's not any likelihood that we ever will. It's not easy to talk like this, and don't think we under-estimate what you've done.
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