Now, facing the Billionaire, he fairly
stared him out of countenance. An awkward silence followed. Both heard,
with relief, a rapping at the office door.
"Come!" snapped Flint.
A clerk appeared, with a yellow envelope in hand.
"Another wireless, sir," said he.
Flint snatched it from him.
"Send Herzog and Slade, at once," he commanded, as he ripped the
envelope.
"Well, more trouble?" insolently drawled "Tiger" happy in the paling of
the old man's face and the sudden look of apprehension there.
For all answer, Flint handed him the message. Waldron read:
Southern and Gulf States all seemingly cut off from every kind of
communication this P.M. Can get no news. Is this according to your
orders? If not, can you inform me probable cause? I ask
instructions. "K."
Silence, a minute, then Waldron whistled, and began pulling at his thick
lower lip, a sure sign of perturbation.
"By the Almighty, Flint" said he. "I--maybe I was wrong just now, to be
so confoundedly touchy about--about what you said.
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