"If the facts are as you state them, Mr. Tutt," he answered seriously, "the plan on its face would seem to be inequitable. If the property is worth ten million the consideration is palpably inadequate. Your client's equity, worth on that basis at least one hundred thousand dollars, would be entirely destroyed without any redress." "Your Honor," burst out Mr. Chippingham, whose bald head had been bobbing about in excited contiguity with the tall hats, "this is a most misleading statement. The assets of Horse's Neck aren't worth a hundred thousand dollars. And if any of the minority don't want to come into the reorganization--and I assure Your Honor that we would welcome their participation--they can have their equity appraised under the laws of Delaware and the finding becomes a lien on the assets even after they have been transferred." "What relief does that give a man like Mr. Barrows?" shouted Mr. Tutt. "He can't afford to go down to Wilmington with a carload of books and a corps of experts to prove the value of Horse's Neck. It would cost him more than his stock is worth!" "That remedy is not exclusive, in any event," declared the judge. "If this complainant is going to be defrauded I will enjoin this contract _pendente lite_ and appoint a receiver." "Your Honor!" protested Chippingham in great agony. "It is not the fact that this mine is worth ten million. It isn't worth at the most more than one hundred thousand. It is, full of water, the machinery is rusted and falling to pieces and the workings are practically exhausted. The only way to rehabilitate this property is for everybody to come in and put up enough money by subscribing to the stock of the new corporation to pump it out, buy new engines and start producing again. Is it fair to the majority, who are willing to go on, put up more money, and make an attempt to save the property, to have this complainant--an ex-convict who never paid a cent for his stock, dug up from heaven knows where--enjoin their contract and throw the corporation into the hands of a receiver? This is nothing but a strike suit. I repeat--a strike suit!" He glowered breathless at his adversary. "Oh! Oh!" groaned Mr. Tutt in horrified tones. "Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" expostulated the court. "This will not do!" "I beg pardon--of the court," stammered Mr. Chippingham.