THE BLACK FLAG HOISTED
It was a little after five when I reached 26 Broadway—my second visit that day. Mr. Rogers was still at the bank. Half an hour later he entered and threw himself wearily into a chair.
"Lawson, this is a fitting climax for all the stories you have been telling Mr. Rockefeller and myself and the public for the past year about 'Coppers.' I have talked with the Lewisohns, Governor Flower, Morgan, and many others, and I have just come from an hour with Stillman and we are all agreed this Amalgamated subscription is the greatest accomplishment in finance. It is truly marvellous. The bank is literally buried in money, and as near as we can make it out, the stock to be delivered when allotted is actually selling at forty to fifty dollars over the subscription price. The job is done, and you and I have good reason to congratulate each other."
"I am not so sure, Mr. Rogers, that we should, right now. There's lots of work ahead, and we may strike big snags yet," I began. He interrupted impatiently:
"Oh, no, you're wrong, Lawson! We have the money safely housed at the bank. Nothing can now turn it into failure."
There was a new note in his voice as he spoke. Tired though he was, I detected a sharpness that seemed to indicate at once a relief and an indifference which said plainer than words: "I am now beyond all your power to hurt or harm me." I went on:
"I don't want to bring up any new things to-day, for you must be tired out, Mr. Rogers, but surely you are taking into consideration that unless