Friday was to take place the next afternoon in Wing's office; so, contrary
to the little man's custom on Saturday afternoons, he returned thither
after lunch.

Porter and Thompson were already there, and the former was giving the
Vice-President his last instructions, with the evident purpose of
stiffening him up a bit. For Thompson seemed to need stiffening badly. One
by one, and two by two, the directors came straggling in, and presently
Porter, with a parting injunction to Thompson, left the room and crossed
over to McNally's office, where his lieutenant was waiting for him. There
they plotted and planned and awaited the result of the directors' meeting
across the hall.

In Wing's office the meeting was about to begin. It was easy to
distinguish between Jim's friends and the C. & S.C. people; for the
former, a doleful minority, were crowded in one corner doing nothing
because there was nothing they could do, while on the other side of the
room were the gang, with Thompson in the centre, talking in low tones over
the programme of the meeting. There seemed to be no hope whatever that the
President would be able to save himself, for his opponents had a clear
majority of two, and they were met to-day to press this advantage to the
utmost. Had Jim been there at hand, his cause would not have seemed to his
friends so desperate, for it was hard, looking at him, to imagine him
defeated; his very bulk seemed prophetic of ultimate victory. But Jim was
not there; he was not even in Chicago.

There was one man in the minority group who seemed somewhat less cheerless
than his companions. When they asked him what hope there was, what way of
escape he saw, he could not answer, but he still professed to believe that
the President's downfall was not so imminent as it seemed. And the thought