The president of the road swayed a little toward the table. He might be consulting the paper in his hand--it was the last one--before he handed it to the sturdy young man beside him to read. The young man leaning toward him to take it, blotted out for a moment the thin, bent figure. When his shoulders straightened themselves again, the president of the “R. and Q.” was erect in his chair, his inscrutable face turned toward the directors. The young man read rapidly from the paper. It was a summary of items. They had the substance of it already. This only gathered it into smaller compass for them, the quiet voice seemed to assure them, as it went swiftly to the end. “There is one point not included in the formal report that the President intended to speak to you about.” He had laid down the paper and was looking at them. They returned the glance, finding a certain pleasure in this sturdy young man. Simeon looked up with a little, startled glance.... The hand touched his arm carelessly and rested there while the voice went on speaking. “It had been President Tetlow’s wish to ask for a leave of absence--to take effect at your pleasure--” The arm beneath the hand stirred and Simeon ’s mouth opened with an inarticulate sound. The directors glanced at him with sympathetic, humorous smile. The senior director was on his feet proposing a motion--Three other directors, all on their feet, were seconding it--It was carried with a little informal hurst of enthusiasm. Simeon rose to his feet. It was as if he thought that he could respond. The directors were looking at him with expectant faces. He bowed toward them and opened his lips--and broke into a long, deep, helpless cough. John put up his hand to the directors, smiling, and escorted him swiftly to the door.... There was a pleasant hurry of sound among the directors, a getting into light overcoats and shaking of hands, a murmur of dividends, and a rush for trains. Up in the little office Simeon Tetlow stood by the window. He held up his hand--groping, trembling toward the light--He looked at it, and tried to hold it still--and still looked at it--the light falling faintly through it.... “They trust me, John! They trust _me!_ But how dare they trust me!” The shaking hand flickered its quivering, helpless dance against the light. The young man drew it down, covering it with his own. “They trust you, sir, because you’ve never failed them,” he said quietly. XXI The assistant bookkeeper was finishing his accounts for the night. He made another entry and blotted it before he closed the book and looked up, with a little offhand nod. The young man moved toward him. “President Tetlow asked me to tell you something, Harrington.” They were alone in the room, but he spoke in a low tone.