"I've got to do everything between ten and twelve to-morrow," said Armstrong, turning from the fire. "I expect I'll find mighty few friends anxious to be interviewed to-morrow morning—it takes small noise to flush the bird of credit. Well, I'll go down fighting!"
CHAPTER VIII
Armstrong entered his own office a little after nine in the morning, crushing a newspaper in his hand; what he had read there had rendered him livid with helpless anger. He found Jimmy Wren awaiting him.
"Hello!" exclaimed Wren. "I saw Mansfield last night. He said that he'd attend to releasing this attachment by this afternoon anyhow. There's a check from Food Products in the mail, but we can't use it; everything tied up."
Armstrong only nodded, and handed Wren a penciled list of names.
"Call up these fellows, Jimmy, or their secretaries, and make appointments for me between ten and twelve this morning. Spread the appointments as well as you can. If I don't raise that ten thousand—"
"As bad as that, is it?"' asked Jimmy Wren, his eyes anxious. "You're borrowing?"
"How the devil can I get it without?"
"Well, I sort of figured on that last night." Jimmy Wren came to the desk, and began to disgorge bills from his pockets. He looked up at the astounded Armstrong with a grin. "I'm darned sorry I couldn't do better, Reese. Here's twelve hundred to throw into the pot, anyhow."