“Then, by God, walk out again,” said Galt, turning his back.
I followed him out, thinking to find some mollifying word to say; he was unapproachable. The reception room was empty but for Potter and the friend he had with him, an important banker who was to have been presented to Galt in a special way. They talked with no heed of me.
“He’s in one of his damned tantrums,” said Potter. “We’ll have to chuck it or try again.”
The other man got very red.
“Why do you stand it?” he asked. “You!”
“I’ll tell you why,” said Potter. “We make more with him than with any other man who ever handled our money. That’s a very good reason.”
“I couldn’t help it,” I said to Galt, afterward.
“All right,” he said. “He won’t do it again.”
He never did. And so one by one they learned to take him as he was, to swallow their pride and submit to his moods, all for the same reason. He had the power to make them rich, richer, richest.
A meeting of the board of directors became a perfunctory formality, serving only to verify and approve Galt’s acts for purposes of record. On his own responsibility he committed the company to policies, investments, vast undertakings, and informed the board later. Success was his whole justification. If once that failed him his authority would collapse instantly.