"No use trying to put up any bluff," he snarled. "You're the president of this Company—you sign all the checks, don't you? If you don't know where the Company stands, who would?"
The small, shrewd-faced man interrupted, standing a bit forward from the group.
"All this is interesting," he said, "but it don't get us fellows anywhere. We came to find out about the payroll. We've been stood off now for ten days. We want to know where we stand."
Bill turned his head and studied the men briefly, the small man longest.
"You stand in line, along with the rest of the bunch," he said, with a heartening grin. "Go back and tell the men to mosey down here to the office. They'll get their pay, all right."
They looked at him, and from him their eyes went to the other two. The small man turned to the door.
"They'll be here, Mr. Dale," he said. Bill never could decide afterwards just what lay behind the little man's words. They had sounded somewhat like a threat.
"Get out the payroll, John," he said crisply. "And the nice, big check book I've kept signed up for you. The men will be here, and they'll have to be paid."
"There's not enough money in the bank to pay them." Emmett's voice was surly.
"Get the books, I said. The men are going to be paid."