The closing of the door of that sacred inner room behind John was the signal for a buzz of excited comments.
"Lordy," gasped a stenographer to her nearest neighbor, "but I'm sorry for poor young Mr. Ward—did you see the old man's face?"
The half-whispered remark expressed, with fair accuracy, the general sentiment of the entire force.
Adam Ward did not sit down at his desk, but going to a window he stood looking out as though deep in thought.
"Father," said John, at last, "what is it? Has anything happened?"
Adam turned slowly, and it was evident that he was holding his self-control by a supreme effort of will. "I have made up my mind to quit," he said. "From to-day on you will take my place and assume my responsibilities in the Mill."
"I am glad, father," said John, simply, "You really should be free from all business cares. As for my taking your place in the Mill," he smiled, "no one could ever do that, father."
"You have full control and absolute authority from to-day on," returned Adam. "I shall never put my foot inside the doors of the plant or the office again."
"But, father!" cried John. "There is no need for you to—"
Adam interrupted him with an imperious gesture. "There is no use arguing about it," he said, coldly. "But there are two or three things that I want to tell you—that I think you ought to know. You can take them from me or not, as you please. My ideas and policies that made this institution what it is to-day will probably be thrown aside as so much worthless junk, but I am going to give you a word or two of warning just the same."