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He came directly to the point. "The ten per cent of minority stock is divided as follows," he said, spreading some papers on the desk. "Two and one half per cent each, Rina Cord and Nevada Smith; two per cent each, Judge Samuel Haskell and Peter Commack, president of the Industrial Bank of Reno; and one per cent to Eugene Denby."
    I looked at him. "What's the stock worth?"
    "On what basis?" he asked. "Earnings or net worth?"
    "Both," I answered.
    He looked down at his papers again. "On the basis of average earnings the past five years, the minority stock is worth forty-five thousand dollars; on the basis of net worth maybe sixty thousand dollars." He lit a cigarette. "The earning potential of the corporation has been declining since the war."
    "What does that mean?"
    "There just isn't the demand for our product in peacetime that there is in war," he answered.
    I took out a cigarette and lit it. I began to have doubts about the hundred thousand a year I was paying him. "Tell me something I don't know," I said.
    He looked down at the papers again, then up at me. "Commack's bank turned down the two-hundred-thousand-dollar loan your father wanted to finance the German contract you signed yesterday."
    I put the cigarette out slowly in the ash tray. "I guess that leaves me a little short, doesn't it?"
    McAllister nodded. "Yes."
    My next question took him by surprise. "Well, what did you do about it?"
    He stared at me as if I were psychic. "What makes you think that I did?"
    "You were in my father's office when I got there and I know he wouldn't call you just to settle with that girl's parents. He could have done that himself. And you took the job. That meant you were sure of getting your money."
    He began to smile. "I arranged another loan at the Pioneer National Trust Company in Los Angeles. I made it for three hundred thousand, just to be on the safe side."
    "Good," I said. "That will give me the money I need to buy out the minority stockholders."
    He was still staring at me with that look of surprise in his eyes when I dropped into the chair beside him. "Now," I said, "tell me everything you've been able to find out about this new thing my father was so hot about. What was it you called it? Plastics?"

 
8
     

    ROBAIR SERVED A RANCH-STYLE BREAKFAST: STEAK AND eggs, hot biscuits. I looked around the table. The last plate had been cleared away and now Robair discreetly withdrew, closing the big doors behind him. I drained my coffee cup and got to my feet.
    "Gentlemen," I said, "I know I don't have to tell you what a shock it was yesterday to find myself suddenly with the responsibility of a big company like Cord Explosives. That's why I asked you gentlemen here this morning to help me decide what's best for the company."
    Commack's thin voice reached across the table. "You can count on us to do what's right, son."
    "Thank you, Mr. Commack," I said. "It seems to me that the first thing we have to do is elect a new president. Someone who will devote himself to the company the same way my father did."
    I looked around the table. Denby sat at the end, scribbling notes in a pad. Nevada was rolling a cigarette. He glanced up at me, his eyes smiling. McAllister sat quietly next to him. Haskell and Commack were silent. I waited for the silence to grow heavy. It did. I didn't have to be told who were my friends.
    "Do you have any suggestions, gentlemen?" I asked.
    Commack looked up at me. "Do you?"
    "I thought so yesterday," I said. "But I slept on it and this morning I came to the conclusion that it's a pretty big nut to crack for someone with my experience."
    For the first time that morning, Haskell, Commack and Denby brightened. They exchanged quick looks. Commack spoke up. "That's pretty sensible of you, son," he said. "What about Judge Haskell here? He's retired from the bench but I think he might take the job on to help you out."
    I turned to the Judge. "Would you, Judge?"
    The Judge smiled slowly. "Only to help you out, boy," he