"Knowing the way you carry things in your mind, and the
difficulty of rattling you," said Cortlandt, "we have dropped in
on our way to hear the speech that I would not miss for a
fortune. Let us know if we bother you."

"Impossible, dear boy," replied the president genially. "Since I
survived your official investigations, I think I deserve some of
your attention informally."

"Here are my final examinations," said Cortlandt, handing
Bearwarden a roll of papers. "I have been over all your figures,
and testify to their accuracy in the appendix I have added."

So they sat and chatted about the enterprise that interested
Cortlandt and Ayrault almost as much as Bearwarden himself. As
the clock struck eleven, the president of the company put on his
hat, and, saying au revoir to his friends, crossed the street to
the Opera House, in which he was to read a report that would be
copied in all the great journals and heard over thousands of
miles of wire in every part of the globe. When he arrived, the
vast building was already filled with a distinguished company,
representing the greatest intelligence, wealth, and powers of the
world. Bearwarden went in by the stage entrance, exchanging
greetings as he did so with officers of the company and directors
who had come to hear him. Cortlandt and Ayrault entered by the
regular door, the former going to the Government representatives'
box, the latter to join his fiancee, Sylvia Preston, who was
there with her mother. Bearwarden had a roll of manuscript at
hand, but so well did he know his speech that he scarcely glanced
at it. After being introduced by the chairman of the meeting,