"What's the trouble?" asked Coleman, looking calmly at the flushed and angry countenances before him.
Partridge and I attempted to explain our positions at the same time, but Coleman picked out the facts from the confusion, and with a few tactful questions had the situation clearly in his mind.
"The solution is very simple," he said. "Wharton Kendrick subscribed five hundred thousand to the syndicate. Mr. Hampden will assign us three hundred and fifty thousand out of that sum, and we shall be perfectly protected."
Coleman's plan was so logical and businesslike a way out of our difficulties that I breathed a sigh of relief, and the anger of my associates evaporated in a laugh at our stupidity in not thinking of it for ourselves.
"How much does that leave in the fund?" asked Coleman, when I had taken up the notes, and sent the clerk on his way.
"A trifle over twenty-three thousand."
"Gentlemen," said Partridge, rising with a theatric gesture, "the syndicate retires from business. Thank Heaven it is striking three."
"And what of to-morrow?" I asked.
Partridge shrugged his shoulders.
"I wish to God I knew," he said.