“Let me have Mr. Herzog, at once,” he said sharply. A minute later he said: “Herzog?—This is Dawson—Is Mr. Grinnell in your office?” Mellen drew near and stood beside his friend.
“Hello?” went on Dawson, with a tinge of impatience. “Is Grinnell—” He turned to Meilen and explained, spitefully: “He says to wait a moment—Hello? Yes. I’d like to see him—”
“Tell him to wait for you there,” said Mellen, in a tone of command. Dawson spoke into the telephone:
“Well, if he’ll wait for me at your office I’ll run over at once. Very well. Good-bye.” Dawson rose and, putting on his hat, followed the richest man in the world who had already started out of the office briskly.
In Herzog’s office the old banker, at Dawson’s first question, carefully placed his hand over the transmitter and said to Grinnell: “Dawson wants to know if your are here.”
“I cannot tell a lie,” laughed Grinnell; “I am.”
A moment later Mr. Herzog said: “He says he will come over if you will wait here for him.”
“Very well,” replied Grinnell. He added: “I think this will close the incident.” But Herzog shook his head—he was listening to Dawson and couldn’t hear the young man’s words.
The bank president and the richest man in the world walked more quickly than was their wont, each busy with his own thoughts. The myopic door-keeper at Wolff, Herzog & Co.‘s, knew Mr. Dawson. He opened the gate obsequiously and then hastened ahead and held open the door to Mr. Herzog’s private office. They entered abreast.
Mr. Herzog rose quickly and, walking toward them, extended his hand to Dawson. Then he shook Mellen’s. Grinnell arose from his chair near Herzog’s desk and merely said, “Good-morning, gentlemen.”