Knowlton kept his word in a measure. Prospero and his companion were moved to a little two-room apartment on the floor above, and I was left in undisputed sway over my study. After they had been settled in the new abode, Knowlton dropped in to see me.
"Business is not in good shape, Ted," he said, lighting his cigar. "I've been all over our orders and books and found we are operating on too close a margin of capital. We have more orders than we have machines or cash to handle."
"That seems a strange difficulty to me. We are too prosperous. Is this the Senegambian you were looking for?"
"Exactly. Our friend Norwood, who sold us the business, loaded the books with orders to make a good showing. Now he has got out, and deliveries are up to us. Frankly, we haven't cash enough to swing it."
"What is the trouble just now?"
"We can't meet Saturday's payroll—we haven't enough at the bank. There's a big payment due us on a complete contract. If that comes in by Saturday noon we are O. K. If not, the bank has got to see us through; and that's where you come in again, Ted. I'm going to send you to talk to the bank president."
"Why me?" I protested. "Wouldn't he pay more attention to you?"
"It's just a hunch of mine, Teddy, and it'll be a good experience for you. If you don't get away with it, I'll try my hand."
Saturday noon was an exciting hour. The mail came at twelve; the men had to be paid off, in cash, at one. I had just sixty minutes to find out whether we pulled through or closed down. The post office was on the corner of State Street and the Park, the latter a large unkempt square with a feeble fountain and some fine old trees. I had made an appointment with the president of the Deep Harbor National Bank for twelve-fifteen. A little before twelve I stood on the post office steps, with the key to the firm's box in my hand, waiting for the mail to be sorted. In my inner pocket was a statement of our resources and a list of our contracts.