Delroy and Tremaine went at once to the Wall Street office where the conference concerning the railroad was to take place. Memories of that conference still survive in the Street; wild legends concerning it—how a company of conservative, cold-blooded, steel-gutted capitalists were worked upon, bamboozled, hypnotised, wrought up to enthusiasm over a project which was proved, by the subsequent reports of engineers, to be about as practicable as a bridge to the moon. Even yet, the glamour of that meeting endures with some of the investors who were present, and they are still convinced that a railroad in Martinique would pay a fabulous return. Tremaine set for the Street a new standard of “smoothness,” and one which has never been approached.
The conference was over by noon, and Tremaine announced his intention of returning to Edgemere by the first train.
“I’m feeling a little worn out by the morning’s exertions,” he explained, and he really looked it. “When are you coming out?”
“I’m going up to Tiffany’s first,” Delroy answered, “and have a talk with them about my wife’s necklace. I left it with them Saturday. If they advise a sea-bath, I’ll bring it along with me, and we’ll see what virtue there is in the treatment.”
“Perhaps there isn’t any,” said Tremaine; “or it may be that Tiffany has some better method.”
“Well, I’ll know by to-night,” and Delroy held up a beckoning finger to a passing cab. “Good-bye till then.”
When Tremaine reached Edgemere, he made a tour
