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He wants to open up the country generally says it is full of natural resources." "Is there any dividend in sight?" demanded Stoughton bluntly. Followed a little silence and the long thin fingers of Birch began an intermittent tap on the polished table. Presently Wimperley glanced up and smiled dryly. He had not known that Birch understood the Morse code. "Birch has told you," he said.
So have I and so has every one who takes the responsibility for the actions of those of lesser intelligence. Leaving out first and second causes we're all doing just what we're meant to do, and it doesn't matter who or what meant it. Wimperley and the others will be up here soon, and regard me as a crazy idealist who inveigled them into building a house of cards.
Riggs rubbed his thin hands. "Thanks, I'm very fond of mutton. Do you mind if I put on my overcoat? The floor seems a little cold." He disappeared and returned muffled to the ears. "You'd better hurry up with your food," said Clark soberly. "The human stomach cannot digest frozen sheep." He glanced at Wimperley and Stoughton. "What's the matter with you fellows?"
In half an hour Bowers, who was expecting them, completed the quartet. It was an unusual group that gathered that night in the dining room. Ardswell and Weatherby had spent a week in Philadelphia before Wimperley telegraphed Clark to come down. The story was plain enough. The two Englishmen had come from London to hear it, and it was told well.
"Thanks," said Clark with a curious light in his gray eyes, "but I think I'd better not." Five hours later Wimperley sat under a spruce tree and gloated over his catch. Close by were the rest, each arranging a row of speckled beauties on the cool green moss. They had caught some forty trout, the biggest being a trifle over the record, and this was Wimperley's fish.
"Well, Wimperley?" Birch had not moved. "This is the last straw. It's a case of our getting rid of him before he gets rid of us, or the shareholders do." Birch turned to the window. "Well, what about it?" Stoughton hunched his shoulders still higher. "Fire him," he said stolidly, then puffed his cheeks and breathed on the widow pane.
Riggs and Wimperley were, like Stoughton, keen fishermen, and while Birch fished for only one prize, all felt alike that here was a surcease after a trying morning. They could pull themselves together. With this reflection moving in his brain, Stoughton felt a stab of compunction. "I wish you could come, old man," he jerked out to Clark.
At that came a little silence and there appeared the vision of Clark in his office, with his achievements dissolving before his eyes. "Robert Fisher is no financier," struck in Stoughton wearily. Wimperley smiled in spite of himself. "Perhaps not, but he mesmerized us into that office. There's only one thing I can see issue debentures secured by first mortgage." "Who'll take 'em?
"Hold on a minute, Clark," panted Stoughton who was beginning to sweat. "It's better over here, come along." But if it was better they did not notice it. Wimperley stumbled over a root and plunged one hand up to the wrist in slimy mud. Riggs was breathing hard and his nostrils dilated, but he plugged doggedly on.
"I want this to be a real visit," he said cheerfully; "it's some time since you were all here together and there's a good deal to see. When you get tired let me know. I've not forgotten the time I nearly froze Riggs to death." As he turned to lead the way, Wimperley sent a swift signal to his companions, Clark was to have his head for the time being. Birch nodded approvingly.
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