"Well," drawled Birch dryly, "we've heard from our prophet."
"He's got more confidence in our future than we have in his past," put in
Riggs.
Stoughton turned, "What about the payroll?"
"If you have a million or so to spare, we'll send it up. There's more to be met than the payroll." The voice was a trifle insulting, but Stoughton did not notice it, and Birch went on. "There's just one thing we can do, if we can't get money to run."
"Well?" jerked out Riggs, "say it."
"Shut down."
Wimperley's long fingers were drumming the table. He did not fancy himself as the president of a great company in whose works not a wheel was turning.
"I'd like to find some other way out of it. There's going to be hell to pay here, but—"
"Perhaps the ingenious gentleman at St. Marys could help out," said Birch acidly.
At that came a little silence and there appeared the vision of Clark in his office, with his achievements dissolving before his eyes.