Eben Moddridge groaned. Tom could see perspiration oozing out on the nervous one’s face and neck.
“There are persistent rumors,” continued Broker Coggswell, “that Delavan has secretly and systematically wrecked the P. & Y. Railroad, and that the road’s finances are in a bad condition. The newspapers have taken up the yarn, and there’s a bad flurry in all Delavan stocks.”
“The reporters are out here, trying to interview me,” admitted Mr. Moddridge.
“Then,” begged the New York broker, “produce Delavan at the earliest possible moment, and let the reporters interview him. It will do a lot to steady your interests in Wall Street. Where is Mr. Delavan, anyway?”
“I can’t tell you that over the wire, Mr. Coggswell. I’ll write you this afternoon.”
“Is it true that Delavan has fled, and is in hiding on account of financial irregularities with the P. & Y. Railroad?”
“It’s wholly false, Coggswell,” cried Moddridge, hoarsely.
“Then hurry up and produce him, or the banks will call your loans, and you’ll both go under in the crash, besides dragging a good many scores of innocent people down with you.”
“Oh, I hope it won’t be as bad as that,” shivered Moddridge.
“If you and Delavan go under during the next few days,” warned Broker Coggswell, “Wall Street is so shaky and suspicious that a good many failures will result.”