"Just let me get this thing right end to," he told himself. "How did
the idea happen to hit me, anyway? Oh, yes! Old Vose bragging to me that
every stockholder in the Vose line was behind him, and that the annual
meeting was about to come off, and then I would see what a condemned
poor show I stood to get even the toe of my boot into the crack of the
company door. He's a Maine corporation. I've known of cases where that
fact helped a lot. There are plenty of ifs and buts in this thing, but
here goes!"

He applied himself to one of the office telephones, asked for several
numbers, one after the other, and put questions with eagerness and
rapidity.

The information he received seemed to disturb him considerably. He came
out of the booth and scrubbed his cheeks with his purple handkerchief.

"Their annual meeting at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, four hundred
miles from here! Well, I suppose I ought to be thankful that it's not
being held right now," Mr. Fogg informed himself, determined to fan that
one flicker of hope with both wings of his optimism. "But I've got to
admit that twenty-four hours is almighty scant time for a job of this
sort, even when the operator is the little Fogg boy himself. Damme, I
haven't come to a full, realizing sense yet of all I've got to do and
how I'm going to do it."

He hurried out, dove into an elevator, and was shot down to the street.

He was lucky enough to find a taxi at the curb.

"Grand Central," he told the driver. "I've got five dollars that
says you can beat the Subway express and land me in season for the
ten-o'clock limited for Boston."

As soon as it became evident to Mr. Fogg that his driver had seen his
duty and was going to do it, traffic squad be blowed, the promoter
settled back, and his thoughts began to revolve faster than the taxi's
wheels.

"It's going to be like the mining-camp 'lulu hand,'" was his mental
preface to his plans. "It can be played only once in a sitting-in; it
has got to be backed with good bluff, but it's a peach when it works.
And what am I a promoter for? What have I studied foreign corporation
laws for?"

Mr. Fogg took off his hat and mopped his bald spot, wrinkling his
eyelids in deep reflection.

"The idea is," he mused, "I'm a candidate for the presidency of the Vose
line at to-morrow's meeting. But I haven't been elected yet!"

However, Mr. Fogg's preliminary sniffing at the affairs of the Vose line
had informed him where he could