CHAPTER XV
THE ATLAS ON THE FLOOR
A tell-tale portrait—When the fire of life has gone—The guiding hand—A woman who understands—The highroads of commerce—The great Southwest—Dreams—The art of life—"No one asks, if you succeed"
Mr. Dround's illness kept him away from business for a mouth or more. He had always been in delicate health, and this worry over the loss of Carmichael and the bad outlook in his affairs was too much for him. His absence gave me the opportunity to form my plans undisturbed by his timidity and doubts. After he recovered, his time was much absorbed by the preparations for the Fair, in which he was much interested. In all this I could see a deft hand guiding and restraining—giving me my rein. At last, when I was ready to lay my plans before Mr. Dround, I made an appointment with him at his house.
He was sitting alone in his great library, looking at a picture which one of the artists attracted to the city by the Fair was painting of him. When he heard my step he got up sheepishly and hung a bit of cloth over the portrait, but not before I had seen the cruel truth the painter had been telling his patron. For the face on the canvas was old and gray; the daring and spirit to fight, whatever the man had been born with, had gone out of it. I pitied him as he stood there by his picture, his thin lips trembling with nervousness. He seemed to shrink from me as though afraid of something. We sat down, and after the first words of politeness neither of us spoke. Finally he asked:—
"Well, Harrington, how do you find matters now that you have had time to look into the situation?"
"Very much as I expected to find them," I replied bluntly. "And that is as bad as could be. Something must be done at once, and I have come to you to-day to settle what that shall be."
He flushed a little proudly at my words, but I plunged in and sketched the situation to him as it had become familiar to me. At first he was inclined to interrupt and question my statements, but he saw that I had my facts. As I went on, showing him how his big rivals had taken his markets—how his business had fallen so that he could no longer get those special rates he had been too virtuous to accept—he seemed to slink into his chair. It was like an operation; but there was no use in wasting time in pity. His mind must be opened. Toward the end he closed his eyes and looked so weak that once I stopped. But he motioned to me to go on.
"And what do you advise?" he asked weakly at the end.
"I have already begun to act," I replied with a smile, and outlined what had been done.