They looked with startled eyes at the president of the road. He nodded reassuringly and touched his throat with his hand. He opened his lips as if to speak, but no sound came. He shook his head. Then they understood. He had lost his voice--a cold, probably, or unusual strain upon it. They nodded their sympathy to him, as if they, too, were suddenly struck dumb. He smiled acknowledgment and touched his throat and motioned to the boy. He had stood with eyes lowered, waiting while the pantomime went on; it was the only part that he feared. He had drilled his patient carefully. But his breath came a little fast.... So many things might happen. ... Then he looked up and met the directors’ gaze fixed upon him expectantly. He consulted the paper in his hand and bent to the pile that lay on the table before him. “President Tetlow wishes to present first the report as a whole.” He took up a handful of the papers. “He has had duplicate copies made for further reference.” He passed the handful of papers to the senior director at the right of the board. It was a thrifty device--thought out in the night watches while he could not sleep... Simeon had never before allowed written reports. This was unexpected convenience. The senior member reached out his hand with a bland smile, swinging his gold eyeglasses to his nose and surveying the figures. He nodded affably. The young man stood watching with slow look while the papers traveled down the length of the table.... It was only a guess at human nature. ... Would it work? Would they study the figures--or Simeon Tetlow’s face? There was too much written on it for them not to see if they sat there and looked at it. His eyes deepened as he watched them, waiting respectfully on their convenience. The last paper reached the hand stretched out for it and he glanced swiftly up and down the double row of faces.... every eye buried in a paper. He drew a quick breath and began to read in clear, even tone. There was no sense of hurry in the voice, but the words passed in swift flow. He knew to a minute how long it would take and how long Simeon Tetlow would keep the cool, inscrutable smile. He was listening, his head a little bent, to the even flow of words. John did not dare to think ahead or see more than one minute at a time. For two weeks his one thought had been to get through this meeting.... He had planned, the day carefully.... It was after the periods of heavy sleep that Simeon was most like himself and he had wakened him from a long nap this morning, brushing his clothes and placing the papers in his hand. “It is the fifth, sir,” he had said. And Simeon had looked at him with a bit of the old, keen smile. “You are to meet the directors,” said John close in his ear, “You remember?” He looked at him anxiously. Simeon had nodded reassuringly. “I know. _I ’m_ all right--I can _look_ all right.” He had said it almost like himself.