Inefficient Whiffler whimpered out his story.

The confessions of an impotent executive are sorry stuff to read.
Whiffler's long, dismal complaint shall not be repeated. He had taken a
prosperous concern, had carried on things in his own way, and now failure
was inevitable. He had bought raw material lavishly, and worked it badly
into half-ripe material, which nobody wanted to buy. He was in arrears to
his hands. He had tried to bully them, when they asked for their money.
They had insulted him, and threatened to knock off work, unless they were
paid at once. "A set of horrid ruffians," Whiffler said,--"and his life
wouldn't be safe many days among them."

"Withdraw, if you please, Mr. Superintendent," President Brummage
requested. "The Board will discuss measures of relief."

The more they discussed, the more consternation. Nobody said anything to
the purpose, except Mr. Sam Gwelp, his late father's lubberly son and
successor.

"Blast!" said he; "we shall have to let it slide!"

Into this assembly of imbeciles unexpectedly entered Mr. John Churm. He
had set his Western railroad trains rolling, and was just returned to
town. Now he was ready to put those Herculean shoulders at any other
bemired and rickety no-go-cart.

Mr. Churm was not accustomed to be a Director in feeble companies. He came
into Dunderbunk recently as executor of his friend Damer, a year ago bored
to death by a silly wife.