True. Of the thirty-five thousand shares of common outstanding, the Association would vote a full nineteen thousand. Macgowan, despite his control of the voting trust, would lose by fifteen hundred votes. The illegal attachment had not availed him-- Suddenly Armstrong's head shot up. He was conscious of the electrified thrill that passed through the entire audience. He was conscious of a new name, not on his list, which had passed the lips of Macgowan. It was the name of Ried Williams. A dead, tense hush fell upon all, through which pierced the voice of Williams in its response. The wondering surprise passed into a low gasp of incredulity. Macgowan sat sneering, defiant, his gaze sweeping about in exultant challenge. The faces that stared up at him had lost their glow of confidence and triumph; consternation was in every eye, a dismayed stupefaction, despair! Armstrong was dumbfounded, staggered. For Ried Williams answered for ten thousand shares! A low mutter passed through the crowd; it swelled and swelled into a vibrant, angry roar of protest. The supercilious smile vanished from the lips of Findlater. Macgowan, furious, bellowed for silence. At last, unable to get it, he held out his hand toward the standing figure of Mansfield in tacit permission. The uproar quieted. As Mansfield voiced objection, Armstrong's attention was suddenly dragged away. He found Jimmy Wren at his elbow, gripping his arm, agitated and tense. "Come to the telephone--long distance--French at Chicago wants you--" "Damn the telephone!" Armstrong was trying to catch Mansfield's voice. "Tell 'em--" "You've got to come! It's the Chicago office--come and hear for yourself! It's more important than anything here--" One look into the eyes of Wren, and Armstrong obeyed. He rose, suffered Wren to pilot him out, wondering what new stroke of fate was to fall upon him. Ten thousand shares that did not exist! This was more than audacity; it was insolence. Macgowan could never get away with such action as this. He had passed the limit at last. His effrontery had now over-reached itself-- "Hello!" Armstrong spoke into the telephone. "Armstrong speaking. Who is it?" He listened for a moment; his face changed. A start escaped him, as though from some invisible blow. "What's that again?" he demanded vibrantly. "Repeat it!" Then, after a moment: "All right, French. Don't lose any sleep over it. Much obliged to you." He hung up the receiver and turned to Jimmy Wren. He was laughing, but his eyes were dancing with the cold flame of sun-smitten ice. "You heard, Jimmy? Want to start for Europe?" Jimmy Wren gaped at him, then grinned and swung palm to palm with a hearty grip. "Damn Europe! I'm with you till hell freezes over, and you know it!" "All right. Let's get back--"