"
"Have you a revolver about you?"
"Yes."
"Very good. I don't want you to kill any one, but it may come in
handy as an evidence of your good intentions."
He led the way to California Street below Sansome, where we climbed a
flight of stairs and went down a hall to a glass door that bore the
gilt and painted letters, "Omega Mining Co., J. D. Storey, Pres't."
"There's five minutes to spare," said my employer. "He may be alone."
A stout, florid man, with red side-whiskers and a general air of good
living, sat by an over-shadowing desk in the handsome office, and
looked sourly at us as we entered. He was not alone, for a young man
could be seen in a side room that was lettered "Secretary's Office."
"Ah, Mr. Knapp," he said, bowing deferentially to the millionaire, and
rubbing his fat red hands. "Can I do anything for you to-day?"
"I reckon so, Storey. Let me introduce you to Mr. Wilton, one of our
coming directors."
I had an inward start at this information, and Mr. Storey regarded me
unfavorably. We professed ourselves charmed to see each other.
"I suppose it was an oversight that you didn't send me a notice of the
directors' meeting," said Doddridge Knapp.
Mr. Storey turned very red, and the King of the Street said in an
undertone: "Just lock that door, Wilton."
"It must have been sent by mail," stammered Storey. "Hi, there! young
man, what are you doing?" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet as I turned
the key in the lock.
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