At intervals, Dan and Brad would get up from the bench and go to the window. Fifteen minutes already had elapsed. And still Mr. Silverton’s office door remained closed.
Then at twenty minutes to five, when the Cubs had nearly given up hope, the sportsman unexpectedly walked out of his inner office. He wore his hat and coat and would have passed through without speaking to anyone, had not the receptionist stopped him.
“Mr. Silverton, these boys have been waiting a long while to see you,” she informed the pheasant farm owner. “They are quite insistent that it is important.”
The sportsman gazed at Brad and Dan, and appeared to look straight through them.
Deliberately turning his back, he then strode toward the outer door.
The Cubs had no intention of allowing him so easily to elude them.
“Please, Mr. Silverton, we must see you for a minute!” Dan exclaimed, starting after him.
The sportsman acted as if he had not heard the appeal. Walking rapidly, he continued toward the elevator.
Rebuffed, but nevertheless determined that Mr. Silverton should listen, the two boys pursued him down the hall.
“Mr. Silverton, listen to us just for a moment—” Brad began, but the stock broker cut him short.