The chairman was not in a very good temper.
"Really, Mr Verd, you'll be asking me to carry your luggage next. It's no part of my duties as chairman of the directors to undertake business of this kind. What that man ought to have done—"
"He did what I told him. You can get this put through if you like. Will you?"
"Frankly, I won't. It creates a precedent. It—"
"One moment, sir. If you'll have a copy of Bradshaw brought in here I'll show you something."
Now, the chairman knew that Cyrus Verd was eccentric, and so he was not surprised. He did not respect eccentricity. But he respected capital; and he knew that Cyrus Verd had already—thanks to his capital—had some little games with railway companies. So he rang the bell, and a Bradshaw was brought.
When the servant had gone Verd drew a penny blue chalk-pencil from his pocket. He opened the Bradshaw, unfolded the map, and, without saying a word, made certain marks upon it.
The chairman watched him closely, and his face changed. "Who's going to do it?" he gasped. Then he repented, as a man does repent when he has given himself away. "Parliament?" he said.
"That's all right," remarked Cyrus Verd, replacing his blue pencil. "I've asked. They daren't block it."
"It wouldn't pay," the chairman said, with an effort at the careless smile.