It was some time later when Captain Hathaway (who had already seen his chauffeur into a police ambulance while Jim harangued the crowd into sullenness) drove his car down to the great gates of Hathaway's works. Jim Swain, the men's leader, sat by his side. * * * * * In the long boardroom, with its thick Turkey carpet, its heavy mahogany furniture, its framed photographs of former directors, the controllers of Hathaway's and its linked houses sat already at the council-table. The air was heavy with cigar smoke when Captain Hathaway entered. "Sorry I'm late, gentlemen--no,--a little accident--I'm quite all right--nothing at all serious," so he responded to the queries evoked by his cut forehead as he sat down. His father rose, pompous, full-cheeked, settling his pince-nez with one hand, while he gathered together a little sheaf of papers with the other. "Gentlemen," he said, "to-day I have to communicate to you officially what I think all of you know privately--a communication which (hem!) marks another epoch in the successful history of the house of Hathaway. I have transferred to my son, Captain Hathaway--who has not unsuccessfully graduated in the stern business of war--(Hear, hear!)--my controlling interest in all the enterprises of which hitherto I have been the head. I propose--and I believe you will second me in this--that Captain Hathaway be duly elected to the board as managing director." (It would have been difficult for the audience to have disputed this had they wished. There was a unanimous "Hear, hear!") Sir Thomas Hathaway passed a bulky envelope across to his son. "Here, Harry, I give you all the deeds of transfer, duly executed and dated as from yesterday. You are now the head of Hathaway and Company!" There was a faint sketch of a cheer from the fat old gentlemen round the table.