uble is we've sat too
long inside and wondered where we were. Wimperley is right. And don't
forget that Clark has something at stake too."

It was all so even and sane that it acted like oil on troubled waters.
Stoughton jumped up, remarking that now he could eat, while Riggs,
remembering that six per cent. on seven millions of issued bonds was
four hundred and twenty thousand, stared at Birch and marveled how he
could have managed to put it away in the face of such expenditure.
Just as he was reaching for his hat, the door opened and a telegram was
brought in. Wimperley took it carelessly. He was too full of relief
to be interested in anything else and experienced a gratified glow in
that he had spoken what was in his mind and been upheld. Then,
glancing at the telegram, his face changed and he felt his temples
redden. The message was from Clark, who now asked that serious
consideration be given to the building of blast furnaces at St. Marys.
He stood for a moment while the others glanced at him curiously.

"What about that?" he jerked out, and gave the yellow sheet to Birch.

Birch read it aloud slowly, and, after an impressive pause read it
again and still more slowly, the pink spots on his cheeks becoming
brighter, his hard dry tones still more cold and mechanical. When he
looked up Stoughton had turned his back and, with shoulders up, was
staring out of the window. Riggs was red and flustered. After a
moment the little man found breath.

"He's crazy, that's all."

"Well, Wimperley?" Birch had not moved.

"This is the last straw. It's a case of our getting rid of him before
he gets rid of us, or the shareholders do."

Birch turned to the window. "Well, what about it?"

Stoughton hunched his shoulders still higher. "Fire him," he said
stolidly, then puffed his cheeks and breathed on the widow pane. In
the fog he wrote "Fire him" with his forefinger, taking particular care
to make it legible with neatly formed letters. The next moment both
fog and words evaporated. It flashed into Stoughton's mind that they
had not lasted long. He swung round, "It's the only thing to do, but I
don't want the job. You can have it, Birch."

The lean face changed not a whit. "I take my end of it. If I don't,
Marsham will."

"Look here, this isn't a one man job." Wimperley's voice had barely
regained its steadiness. "This message settles, as I take it, our
views of Clark. God knows we don't question anyt