SEPTEMBER 30th had come. The assembly floor was empty. The treasury was full. There was not a note in any bank. The last promise was kept—except one. And that was a personal promise of George Judson. The board of directors were gathered in Mr. Morris's office, ready to meet. Outside in the accounting room the Secretary-Treasurer walked to and fro nervously, waiting for the bookkeepers to complete the balance sheet. At length their computations were checked and confirmed to the last decimal, and alert young Percy Mock handed over a sheet with typewritten columns of figures some of which were emphasized by underscores in red.
"Shall I write the dividend checks now, sir?" Percy inquired.
"On the basis I outlined to you," answered George, with an affirmative inflection, and walked toward the inner office, scanning the figures as he went.
About President Morris and the scarred old desk there sat: Aaron Ward, short, thick, bald and fifty; Thomas Pence, balder, bluffer, older,
