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.
Meanwhile Porter and McNally in the other office were discussing probabilities and possibilities and thinking of a good many others which neither of them cared to discuss, though all were in their way pleasant. Suddenly they were interrupted by the apparition of Buttons. His eyes were rounder than ever, and his white hair looked as though some one had tried to drag it out of his head.
“Please, sir,” he gasped, “Mr. Thompson wants to see you right away.”
Porter jumped to his feet and fairly ran out of the room. As he turned into the hall a muffled uproar greeted his ears, and it made him hurry the faster. But McNally stayed where he was. He, too, heard the strange noise, but he felt that he would not be able to do any good by going in there. McNally did not “come out strong” amid scenes of violence. His heart troubled him.
It was not more than five minutes before Porter came back. His face was a study.
“They're raising hell in there,” he said. “Weeks's judge has just served an injunction that kicks Thompson and Wing and Powers off the board. Thompson just curled up,--he was almost too scared to breathe,--and Wing seemed to be having some sort of a fit. There was one idiot up on the table yelling that the meeting was adjourned and trying to give three cheers for Weeks.” (It was the man with the telegram.)
“Well,” said McNally, “what's going to happen next?”
“I don't know,” said Porter, breathlessly. “I don't see that anything can happen. As things stand now there isn't a quorum of directors and all the officers are suspended. The road can't do business.”