Blow the Man Down - A Romance of the Coast

"Exactly!" Mr. Fogg's eyes did not blink.

"You will be prepared to testify to that effect in case the need ever

arises."

"Exactly!"

Mr. Fogg delivered that word like a countersign. Into it, in his

interviews with Julius Marston, he put understanding, humility, promise.

"May we expect quick action?" asked the financier. "The thing mustn't

hang fire. We have a lot of our nimble money tied up as it is."

"Exactly!" returned Mr. Fogg, on his way to the door. "Quick action it

is!"

"This is probably the craziest idea that ever popped into a man's head

when that man was sitting in Julius Marston's office," reflected Mr.

Fogg, marching through the anteroom of this temple of finance. "There's

one thing about it that's comforting--it's so wild-eyed it will never

be blamed on to Julius Marston as any of his getting up. And that's his

principal lookout when a deal is on. It seems to be up to me to deliver

the goods."

He sat down on a bench in the waiting-room and rubbed his knuckles over

his forehead.

"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."