The studio was now filled with chatter. Mrs. Kildair passed from group to group, animating it with a word or two. With the exception of Teddy Beecher and Nan Charters, in the several groups there was but one question—the events of the day in the financial world and the probable outcome of the secret conference at Gunther's.
Every one watched the clock, awaiting the last arrival with an impatience that was too truly founded on the safety of their personal fortunes to be concealed.
"The conference ended at six-thirty," said Maud Lille to Bloodgood and Cheever; "Majendie left for his house immediately after. I had it from the city editor on the telephone."
"Was any statement given out?" said Cheever, who put one finger to his lip, as he did when a little nervous.
"None."
"If he goes under, it means the bottom out of the market," said Cheever, fixing his owlish stare on Bloodgood's smug face.
"Are you long?" asked Bloodgood, turning on him with curiosity.
"A thousand shares," answered Cheever, but in a tone that carried no conviction.
"He won't come," said Maud Lille obstinately.
"If he does," said Cheever slowly, "he's pulled through and the market ought to go up." And a second time his finger jerked up to his lips, with the gesture of the stutterer.