“That shows how much you know about your own business! There’s twenty shares out of your half that I’ve been trying to lay my hands on for two months. It was a deal Farley made the last year he was down here with a Fort Wayne jobber named Reynolds that he bought out after your father died. I know because we tried to buy up Reynolds ourselves, but old Uncle Tim went us one better. There wasn’t much to the business, but the good-will was worth something and Farley let Reynolds have twenty shares just to beat us out of the sale. Farley had sense! When Reynolds died his executor sold the stock to somebody here. Foreman handled it, but he won’t tell me who he sold to. I know you didn’t get it! Foreman says he spent a month last summer lookin’ for you to give you a chance to buy the stock, but he couldn’t get hold of you. You were always off sportin’ with Kinney!”
Copeland had forgotten about the Reynolds shares. He mentally cursed Farley for not reminding him of them; Farley had never dealt squarely with him! Very likely he had personally told Eichberg and the Western National of the Reynolds shares. It was galling to be obliged to learn from Eichberg things he should have known himself. He had flattered himself that in persuading the bank to accept fourteen hundred and eighty-five shares as collateral instead of the majority for which demand had been made at first, he had shown his business sagacity; but evidently Eichberg had known of the Reynolds shares all along.
“I don’t intend that what’s left of this business shall go to the bad,” said Eichberg. “Either you come to terms, and let ’em know outside that we’ve arranged a merger in a friendly way, or I’ll call up my lawyer and tell him to apply for a receiver.”
Outside, the interested and anxious clerks and stenographers, cold with excitement, watched their associate, Mr. Jeremiah Amidon, who was inviting the wrath of the gods by knocking upon Copeland’s door. When he entered in response to an angry bellow, they expected to see him reappear instantly, possibly at the end of William B. Copeland’s foot. To their chagrin Amidon remained in the private office for some time; and they judged from the sudden quiet that followed his disappearance that he was exerting a calming influence upon Copeland and his visitor....
“I beg your pardon,” Jerry remarked while Copeland and Eichberg glared at him.
To Copeland the sight of Jerry was an unwelcome reminder of the previous night. His remorse over his effort to burn the store vanished; if it hadn’t been for this meddlesome cub he wouldn’t now be entertaining Eichberg in his office!
“Well, what does the boy want?” demanded Eichberg, when Copeland found it impossible to express his wrath at Jerry’s intrusion.
Eichberg knew Jerry perfectly well; everybody in the street knew Jerry! And it was the basest insult to refer to him as the boy.
“Excuse me, Mr. Eichberg! I just wanted to hand a memorandum to Mr. Copeland.”
He drew from his pocket the certificate he had purchased from Foreman, and handed it to Copeland, who snatched it from him with an angry snarl.