"Nonsense, Meyer, what's the matter with you? Which one of the lost tribes did you spring from—you're like none of your race—drinking yourself stupid like a good Christian. I've got a thousand on the Titan, and if I'm to pay it I want to know why. You've got the heaviest risk and the brain to fight for it—you've got to do it. Go home, straighten up, and attend to this. We'll watch Rowland till you take hold. We're all caught."
They put him into a cab, took him to a Turkish bath, and then home.
The next morning he was at his desk, clear-eyed and clear-headed, and for a few weeks was a busy, scheming man of business.
CHAPTER XI
On a certain morning, about two months after the announcement of the loss of the Titan, Mr. Meyer sat at his desk in the Rooms, busily writing, when the old gentleman who had bewailed the death of his son in the Intelligence office tottered in and took a chair beside him.
"Good morning, Mr. Selfridge," he said, scarcely looking up; "I suppose you have come to see der insurance paid over. Der sixty days are up."
"Yes, yes, Mr. Meyer," said the old gentleman, wearily; "of course, as merely a stockholder, I can take no active part; but I am a member here, and naturally a little anxious. All I had in the world—even to my son and grandchild—was in the Titan."
"It is very sad, Mr. Selfridge; you have my deepest sympathy. I pelieve you are der largest holder of Titan stock—about one hundred thousand, is it not?"
"About that."
"I am der heaviest insurer; so Mr. Selfridge, this battle will be largely petween you and myself."