"It's simple enough, we're not using Clark properly."
"Isn't seven millions proper?" boomed Stoughton.
"You don't get me," Birch spoke in a thin dry voice totally devoid of
any emphasis. "The proper use of a man like that is the purpose for
which nature designed him. He's an originator--but not an executive.
Dividends don't interest him half as much as the foundations of a new
mill."
Wimperley shook his head. "That may be all right, but from my point of
view he has become dangerous. He surmounts our resolutions, the ones
we make when our pulse is normal. I have never seen him fail to carry
his point. Take the matter of this railway. I don't mind betting that
if we go up there to-morrow to kill that road we'll be committed to it
in twenty-four hours."
"I'll take that for a thousand." There was a spot of faint color in
Birch's hollow cheeks.
Wimperley laughed. "I'm on. What about lunch and finish this
afterwards?"
But Stoughton sat tight. "You'll go too far. Suppose that Clark gets
on his ear and tells us to run the thing in our own way, and that he'll
get out. As I see it, he holds the works together and represents the
works in the mind of every one who knows him."
"Well, what if he does drop out? There's no living man who can't be
replaced."
"Except one called Robert Fisher Clark. As a first consequence our
stocks drop on the Philadelphia exchange like a wet sponge. You can
imagine the rest---you all know enough about the market, and, by the
way, does any one happen to remember the various things we have
publicly said about that same individual?"
This was food for thought. Wimperley, dismissing the idea of lunch,
sat down. The group became universally reflective, and for a little
while no one spoke. Stoughton threw away his cigar, rested his chin on
his hand and stared at the model of the pulp mill on Wimperley's desk.
Wimperley's eyes wandered to the big map and again he saw Clark's
finger sliding over its glazed surface. Riggs twisted his handkerchief
with a puzzled look in his bright eyes, and Birch leaned back,
stretching his long legs, while his tremulous lids began to flicker and
his lips moved inaudibly. To each man there seemed to come the rumble
of the mills, the wet grind of the huge stones against the snowy
billets of spruce, and behind it all the deep tones of the rapids.
Presently the voicelessness of Birch found speech.
"As I said there's nothing to worry about--yet. Two of us might go up
next week. I'll be one, if you like--and put the brakes on--but not so
that he'll feel them. If we only get out of the coach and take the
driver's seat the thing will be all right. Trouble 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."