“I'm afraid that can't be helped, Mr. Thompson,” said Porter. “It's neck or nothing. We've got to have that Tillman City stock.”
There were but four people in the room when he began speaking. There were five when he finished, for Harvey West had grown tired of waiting. He bowed politely.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Ah! Mr. Porter. How do you do? I beg your pardon for intruding.”
Porter recovered first. “No intrusion, Mr. West. We had just finished our business.”
McNally took the cue quickly.
“Mr. West?” he said interrogatively.
Harvey bowed.
“I will be at your service in a moment. Excuse me.”
Wing and Thompson had already taken the hint, and were moving toward the door. Porter hung back, conversing in low tones with McNally. Then he bowed to West and followed the others. McNally gathered up the papers on the table, folded them, and put them in his pocket.
“Please sit down, Mr. West. What can I do for you? Wait a moment, though. Won't you smoke?” He held out his cigar case to Harvey, who took one gladly. Lighting it would give him a moment more to think, and thinking was necessary, for he didn't know what McNally could do for him. But McNally seemed to be doing his best to help him out.