"Was he sure?" asked the King of the Street.
"Those were his exact words."
"When was this?"
"Not five minutes ago."
"Run to Caswell's. Tell him to wait for me."
The messenger darted off and we followed briskly. Caswell, I found, was
an attorney, and we were led at once to the inner office.
"Come in with me," said my employer. "I expect I shall need you, and it
will save explanations."
The lawyer was a tall, thin man, with chalky, expressionless features,
but his eyes gave life to his face with their keen, almost brilliant,
vision.
"Decker's playing the joker," said the King of the Street. "I've beaten
him in the market, but he's going to make a last play with the
directors. There's a meeting called for twelve-thirty. They are going
to give him a two years' contract for milling, and they talk of
declaring twenty thousand shares of my stock invalid."
"How many directors have you got?"
"Two--Barber and myself. Decker thinks he has Barber."
"Then you want an injunction?"
"Yes."
The lawyer looked at his watch.
"The meeting is at twelve-thirty. H'm. You'll have to hold them for
half an hour--maybe an hour."
"Make it half an hour," growled Doddridge Knapp. "Just remember that
time is worth a thousand dollars a second till that injunction is
served."
He went out without another word, and there was a commotion of clerks
as we left.
"How's your nerve, Wilton?" inquired the King of the Street calmly.
"Are you ready for some hot work?"
"Quite ready.
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