Hugo did not pause to choose words. "I found in the books," said he, "where Armstrong had taken three hundred and fifty thousand dollars from us—from the company. I thought I'd not worry you with it. So I sent for him to come to my rooms."
"What!" yelled Fosdick, getting his breath which had gone at the first shock. "What the damnation! You sprung my trap! You fool!"
"I ordered him to resign," Hugo hastened on. "And he refused, and ordered me to vacate my rooms before noon—because the lease stands in the name of the company. And he suspended me as vice-president."
"Good, good!" shouted Fosdick, his thin, wire-like hair, his gaunt face, his whole lean body streaming fury. "Why has God cursed me with such a son as this! How dare you! You wretched idiot! You have ruined us all!"
Hugo cowered. Making full allowance for his father's physical pain and violent temper, there was still that in the old man's face which convinced Hugo he had made a frightful blunder. "I'll vacate," he said, near to whimpering, "I'll do whatever you say."
"Give me that telephone!" ordered the old man.
Fosdick got the O.A.D. building and Armstrong's office. And soon Armstrong's voice came over the wire. "Is that you, Armstrong—Horace—? Yes, I recognize your voice. This is Fosdick. That fool boy of mine has just told me what he did."
"Yes," came in Armstrong's noncommittal voice.
"I want to say you did perfectly right in ordering him to vacate."
"Thanks."