se I get you the correspondence on that?" says I, and rushes out
after the copybook.

But the results wa'n't enlightenin'. We'd applied for renewal on the old
terms, the Universal folks had sent back word that in due course the
matter would be taken up, and that's all until this notice comes in that
there's nothin' doin'. "Inexpedient under present conditions," was the
way they put it.

"I expect Mr. Robert will be back Monday," I suggests cautious.

"Oh, do you?" raps out Old Hickory. "And meanwhile this lease expires
to-morrow noon, leaving us without a foot of ore wharf anywhere on the
Great Lakes. What does Mr. Robert intend to do then--transport by
aeroplane? Just asked pleasant and polite for a renewal, did he? And
before I could make 'em grant the original I all but had their directors
strung up by the thumbs! Hah!"

He settles back heavy in his chair and sets them cut granite jaws of his
solid. He don't look so much like an invalid, after all. There's good
color in his cheeks, and behind the droopy lids you could see the
fighting light in his eyes. He glances once more at the letter.

"Hello!" says he. "I thought their main offices were in Chicago. This is
from Broadway, International Utilities Building. Perhaps you can tell me
what they're doing down there?"

"Subsidiary of I. U.," says I. "Been listed that way all summer."

"Then," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim, "we have to do once more with no
less a personage than Gedney Nash. Well, so be it. He and I have fought
out other differences. We'll try again. And if I'm a back number, I'll
soon know it. Now get me a list of our outside security holdings."

That was his first order; but, say, inside of half an hour he had
everybody in the shop, from little Vincent up to the head of the bond
department, doin' flipflops and pinwheels. Didn't take 'em long to find
out that he was back on the job, either.

"Breezy with that now!" I'd tell 'em. "This is a rush order for the old
man. Sure he's in there. Can't you smell the sulphur?"

In the midst of it comes a hundred-word code message from Dalton, our
traffic superintendent, sayin' how he'd been notified to remove his
wharf spurs within twenty-four hours and askin' panicky what he should
do about it.

"Tell him to hold his tracks with loaded ore trains, and keep his shirt
on," growls Old Hickory over his shoulder. "And 'phone Peabody, Frost &
Co. to send up their railroad securities expert on the double quic