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He said this with a smile which was absolutely undecipherable, then drank their health in water which was his only drink -declined one of Wimperley's cigars, for he did not smoke and inquired quietly if he was to get his railway as well. Whereupon he was immediately assured that he would get anything he asked for. That evening the Philadelphians left in the private car.
Presently they entered, shook hands with a certain stiffness and sat down. A glance at Clark revealed the reason for Wimperley's summons. They, too, had in former years come under the spell. "Now," said Wimperley briefly. Clark recapitulated, and the three listened, their faces devoid of expression save when their eyes involuntarily sought each other. The voice went on vibrant and compelling.
Marys by a private wire, at either end of which sat the confidential operators of the Company. The seed sown by Clark a few years ago had flourished amazingly. Instead of the austerity of Wimperley's office there was now the quiet magnificence of the Consolidated Company's financial headquarters, tenanted by a small battalion of clerks and officials.
These were telling moments, during which unseen forces seemed to move and stretch themselves in hidden potency. Presently came Wimperley's voice. "How much money would be necessary for the first year's operations?" "About a million, possibly more." "And how," demanded Stoughton, "do you propose to get it?" "I am not going to get it," replied Clark with extreme placidity; "you are."
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.
Stoughton turned, "What about the payroll?" "If you have a million or so to spare, we'll send it up. There's more to be met than the payroll." The voice was a trifle insulting, but Stoughton did not notice it, and Birch went on. "There's just one thing we can do, if we can't get money to run." "Well?" jerked out Riggs, "say it." "Shut down." Wimperley's long fingers were drumming the table.
"Seven millions and a half up to last Saturday." Stoughton made a thick little noise in his throat. He knew it was something over seven millions, but the figures sounded differently as Birch gave them. Then Wimperley's voice came in. "Had a letter yesterday, Clark wants to build a railway." "Why?" squeaked Riggs. "To bring down pulp wood from new areas which are not on the river.
I've had a lot of men through my hands who tried to live faster, and it didn't agree with them not that I'm meaning " The rest was lost in a riot of laughter, out of which Wimperley's voice became audible. "If things go as we propose and expect, the people of St. Marys will profit very considerably, there will be remarkable opportunities."
Wimperley's trousers were torn at the knee and his white, scratched skin showed through. Riggs had dropped coat and waistcoat beside the trail, his collar was off, his small body tired and twisted, and from his lips streamed language to which he had long been a stranger. Birch had lagged far behind but plowed on with a cold determination.
"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.
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