noises of a great city had the far-away sound peculiar to top
floors of the modern sky-scraper. The day was warm and sticky, as
is not uncommon in early May, and the overcast sky and a distant
rumbling of thunder promised rain before night.

The big express elevators, running smoothly and swiftly, unloaded
every few moments a number of prosperous-looking men who, chatting
volubly and affably, made their way immediately through the outer
offices towards another and larger inner office on the glass door
of which was the legend "Directors Room. Private." Each comer gave
a patronizing nod in recognition of the deferential salutation of
the clerks. Earlier arrivals had preceded them, and as they opened
the door there issued from the Directors Room a confused murmur of
voices, each different in pitch and tone, some deep and
deliberate, others shrill and nervous, but all talking earnestly
and with animation as men do when the subject under discussion is
of common interest. Now and again a voice was heard high above the
others, denoting anger in the speaker, followed by the pleading
accents of the peace-maker, who was arguing his irate colleague
into calmness. At intervals the door opened to admit other
arrivals, and through the crack was caught a glimpse of a dozen
directors, some seated, some standing near a long table covered
with green baize.

It was the regular quarterly meeting of the directors of the
Southern and Transcontinental Railroad Company, but it was something
more than mere routine that had called out a quorum of such strength
and which made to-day's gathering one of extraordinary importance
in the history of the road. That the business on hand was of the
greatest significance was easily to be inferred from the concerned