“Please ask Mr. Jordan to step here,” he said to the boy who answered the bell.
Such promptness fairly startled the doctor, but in a moment he collected himself for the coming interview, acknowledging to himself that Mr. Williams was right. If a disagreeable duty was to be performed, the sooner it was over with, the better.
Mr. Jordan entered with his usual stiff and solemn air, and gave the doctor a brief nod of recognition. Then he paused before Mr. William’s desk in a way that indicated rather than expressed an inquiry as to why he had been summoned.
The mill owner laid down his pen and looked his secretary square in the face.
“Mr. Jordan,” said he, “we have lost that order of the Italian government.”
“Why?” asked the other, a shade of disappointment in his harsh voice.
“Because the Atlas Steel Company of Birmingham, England, has offered the same steel as mine at a lower price.”
“Impossible!” cried the man, startled for once out of his usual apathy.
“No, it is true,” replied Mr. Williams, calmly. “The Atlas works is using the Carden process, and turning out a product even better than we are at Bingham.”
Mr. Jordan’s face was pale and haggard. He looked around with a hunted air, and then, seeing that both men were regarding him keenly, he controlled himself with an effort and wiped his brow with his handkerchief.