Poor Carruthers stood with his hand on the door knob, wishing himself safely back in his own room, while Johnson took a determined step toward him, seeing the youth’s hesitation, and resolved to overcome it in his own favour. Then a quite unimportant incident happened which caused him to face the other way, and to feel that somehow he had lost a point in the game. Without any hurry John Steele had seated himself in the division superintendent’s chair. Steele, momentarily ignoring both commander and commanded, rang a bell at the private telephone which communicated with the general manager’s room, and placed the receiver at his ear.
“Is that you, Mr. Blair? This is John Steele. I have just returned, and I want you to step round to my room, as I wish to make a rather important communication.”
There was a momentary pause, and so intensely still did the room become that the two men standing there looking at John Steele could hear the indefinite murmur of the voice coming over the telephone.
“No,” said Steele firmly, “the conference must take place in this room, and it must take place now. Otherwise the complaint I have to make against you will go by telegraph direct to Mr. Rockervelt, and I shall leave by to-night’s train for New York.”
Again there was a pause, and a ghostly suggestion of a whisper. Then Steele said: “Oh, I am not on the war-path at all. In fact, such is my deep respect for yourself that it rests entirely with you to say whether there will be a war-path or not. Personally I see no necessity for it. Just step round, and we’ll talk it over in the most amicable way. Yes, Johnson’s here.” With that Steele hung up his receiver, swung round on the swivel chair, the usual winning smile on his lips as he met the gaze of two very anxious young men. His voice, however, was sharp enough when he spoke.
“Carruthers, clear out,” whereupon Carruthers opened the door and disappeared as if by magic.
“Johnson, sit down. You are just about to learn a lesson on the value of all this backing of which you have been boasting.”
Before Johnson could either accede to the request or disobey it the door opened and the stout gentleman entered. There was a severe frown on his brow intended to denote resolute strength, but an expression of uncertainty in his lower face which hinted at weakness.
Steele waved his hand amiably toward a deep leather-covered easy chair, and into its luxurious folds the fat man sank, drawing forth a handkerchief, which he passed across his brow, and somehow the action appeared to obliterate the frown.
“You said in your telegram, Mr. Blair, that I was in fault because I left without personally consulting with you, but I think you will forgive my error when you remember that having applied for permission to leave when my uncle was dying, and being refused, it would have been futile for me to appear before you with proof of his death and a further request for leave of absence. You would have been bound in consistency to refuse, while I was equally determined to attend my uncle’s funeral. If you disbelieved my words when I told you he was dying, you could not have so stultified yourself as to credit the news of his death.”