“Hold on—hold on,” commanded the irate father. “Aren’t you forgetting that I own and control this Lake City Company—that you are—”
“No! I realize that,” retorted Harry, resolutely.
“All right!” Boland turned to Miss Masters grimly: “Make out that lease to Anson.”
“Then here,” said Harry quietly, as he wrote a few words on a sheet of blank paper and laid it on the desk; “here is my resignation as president of your Electrical Company, to take effect now.”
“Harry!” protested his father.
“I’ll get my personal things together at once,” went on the young man, securing his hat from the rack.
“This has gone far enough,” rasped John Boland, springing to his feet. “I’ll show this Mary Randall there’s one she can’t scare.”
He paced nervously up and down the office, pausing finally beside his desk.
“Miss Masters, take an open letter from me to the newspapers.”
He did not notice the actions of the stenographer as he dictated: