One of the local directors spoke up.
“Fifteen thousand!” said he. “It’s out of the question. We’ve never paid more than twelve.”
“So I should imagine,” was the dry response. “But I said fifty, not fifteen.”
The consternation that followed may be imagined! In the end the New Yorker carried his point. At the end of just twelve months he had, through his acquaintance in Wall Street, and his keen insight into the big channels of finance, cut that little road’s interest charges just $800,000 a year. The receiver has not come yet. The road has accomplished a miracle and has begun to pay dividends. There is another miracle to relate. Last spring, the directors of the road voted an increase in salary to their president—and he courteously refused it!
“I think the presidency of this road is worth $50,000 a year,” he said, frankly, “and not one cent more.”
That is the way a president should stand above and with his board.
Only a little time ago, another president, who had no easier proposition to set upon its feet, was criticised by a querulous old director for his lavish use of private cars and special trains. That president was having his own troubles—his job had no soft places; but he said nothing when the testy old fellow lectured him as he might have lectured a sin-filled schoolboy. When the director was done, the president spoke in a low voice.
“Gentlemen, my resignation is on the table,” was his reply to the censure.
The next moment there was consternation in that board. The president slipped out of the room and left them to consider the matter. When he returned, the chairman of the board, who had nodded in half approval at the censure, was at the door to greet him.
“We refuse to accept your resignation,” he said; “but the board does feel that you ought to have a new car—the present one’s getting shabby, Phil.”