This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1916. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XXV THE LAST DEM1JID At this same hour, an angry and fear-struck conference was going forward at Edgecliff. When the second day's Blight had, promptly at 11.45, smashed into the tremendous area from Boston to Philadelphia, Wainwright's rage and consternation had known no bounds. Of violent temper and overfull habit of body, he had just missed apoplexy. A physician, rushed to his office on Broad Street on a hurry call, barely pulled him through by copious bloodletting. Then he took Wainwright home to the vast marble congeries of clashing architectural styles which the copper czar had built on Fifth Avenue. And thither, despite all the specialist's positive injunctions regarding at least twenty-four hours' absolute rest in bed, Wainwright--at the first possible moment of release from the physician's watchful eye--summoned Baker, third member of the triumvirate. The conversation of these two men was short and to the point. "It's ripping into us again, this hellish plague is!" roared Wainwright. "Inferno's loose. If this keeps up a week, I'm broke. So are you. So's everybody! The whole damned business goes to smash, and we with it! "Now «ee here, Baker. This is no time now for fine hair-splitting or oaths of secrecy or anything but action. Did you get the marked ballot? And if so, how about it? Is the crimson idiot dead yet?" "J don't know! I drew a blank." "Same here!" "So then Murchison's the man?" "He is--damn him!" Wainwright jerked the telephone toward him. "660-Q, Englewood!" A pause. Baker paced the floor nervously. "Not at his office, is he?" asked the Secretary of War. "Office, nothing! Think he'd dare go down to Wall Street, now? "This Murchison? Yes? Murchison there? What? Not back till six? See here, you tell him Baker and Wainwright ...
