I took station by the door as the knob was tried. More steps were heard, and the knob was tried again. Then the door was shaken and picturesque comments were made on the dilatory president.
Doddridge Knapp looked grim, but serene, as he sat on the desk with his foot on the prostrate Storey. I breathed softly, and listened to the rising complaints from without.
There were thumps and kicks on the door, and at last a voice roared:
“What are you waiting for? Break it in.”
A crash followed, and the ground-glass upper section of the door fell in fragments.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” I said, as a man put his hand through the opening. “This revolver is loaded, and the first man to come through there will get a little cold lead in him.”
There was a pause and then a storm of oaths.
“Get in there!” cried Decker's voice from the rear. “What are you afraid of?”
“He's got a gun.”
“Well, get in, three or four of you at once. He can't shoot you all.”