Then the leading light in the Tenth Baptist Church turned to the remorse-stricken man again.
Now, if there was one thing upon which Mr. Elijah Callister prided himself more than another, it was upon his shrewdness at all times and seasons—no matter how engrossing the business for the moment occupying his mind.
But if possessed of this quality to any startling extent, he surely has failed to display it now, for had he but taken the precaution to open the half door and look out into the bar-room, he would have perceived that the sleepy bartender, yielding to his sleepiness at last, was as firmly locked in the arms of Morpheus as any of the drunkards stretched upon the barrels, his head resting upon his hands, his hands upon the bar.
He might have seen also—for of this we are not so certain—the youthful figure of a ragged newsboy, crouching in the shadow of a tier of great whisky-barrels in such a position that, while he could obtain a view of the feet only of the two men who occupied Cagney's sanctum beneath the closed half door, he could, by simply placing his ear close to the jamb, hear plainly every word spoken within.
Thus matters stood in the saloon as the conversation within the sanctum was renewed.
"Rube Tisdale," said the stock operator, fiercely, "stop this child's business and listen to me."
"Well, I'm listening."
Though he replied, the man did not raise his head.
"Our scheme with the Webster Bank has proved a miserable failure in every particular."
"You don't need to remind me of that."