“Then,” remarked the first speaker, “it is quite likely that you will find yourself in a minority of one.”
“Mr. Weston can count on at least one supporter,” said Wannop, shortly.
Then there was an awkward silence, until one of the others thrust back his chair.
“It’s becoming quite clear that we can’t go on,” he said. “This concern was started wrong. We should have spent more money, taken first-class offices, and turned out floods of illustrated pamphlets.”
“I just want to ask how you’re going to spend money that you haven’t got?” said Wannop. “I was quite willing to take the money. You wouldn’t put it up.”
There was a little laughter, and the meeting broke up; but Weston stayed behind with Wannop when the others went down the stairway. The broker, who sat down again, made a little dejected gesture.
“I guess the game is up. They’re going back on us,” he said. “In a way, I don’t blame them. The Hogarth people have scared them off. They’re not big enough.”
“Have you any idea as to what they’ll do?” Weston asked.
Wannop nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said. “They’ll hold out a month or two, and piffle away at the adit to save appearances. Then they’ll call the stockholders together, and suggest turning the mine over to the Hogarth people on such terms as they can get. There are just two things that could save us—a strike of extra high-grade ore, or a sudden whim of investors to purchase western mining stock.” He smiled in a wry fashion. “I don’t expect either of them.”
Weston sat still a moment, and then rose with an air of weariness.