that perhaps this one man knew more than he could tell kept the minority
from becoming utterly discouraged. The foundation for his hopes lay in a
telegram he had received that morning from Jim, which read, "_Don't get
scared, everything all right._" Evidently Jim was not submitting tamely,
but whatever was going to happen must happen soon if it was not to be too
late, for Thompson was already calling the meeting to order. As the
directors seated themselves about the long table and listened to
Thompson's opening remarks,--Thompson liked to make remarks,--it seemed
that for once in his life Jim was beaten.

At that moment, in the arched entrance to the Dartmouth, a man whose damp
forehead and limp collar bore witness that he was in a hurry, turned away
from the wall directory he had been scrutinizing and entered the nearest
elevator.

"Six," he said. Once on the sixth floor he looked about for a minute or
two and walked into the outer office where Buttons was on guard, demanding
audience with Mr. Wing.

"Mr. Wing is in," said the boy, "but he is engaged and can't be
disturbed."

"They're here, are they?" said the man. "Well, I want to see Mr. Wing and
Mr. Thompson and Mr. Powers."

"But you can't see them," was the answer. "There's a directors' meeting in
there."

"In there, eh?" said the man, and without further parley with Buttons, he
entered the room indicated, closing the door behind him.