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 country merchant and the small businessman class, through a sprinkling of professional men, to one particular person who looked like "big business." He was carefully groomed, from the Panama hat which reposed before him upon the table, at the far end of which he had presumed to take a seat, to the expensive tan oxfords upon his feet and the figured silk socks which they encased. This man was tall and spare and sandy, with a hawk-like nose, a spike-like chin, a cold, blue eye, and a shrewd and self-composed air.

The president sat down in the president's chair at the opposite end of the table from this stranger whose features had such an unmistakably wolfish aspect.

"That's the guy," said John Williams, nudging George. "That's Jason Weems, Trustee. He is Diamond Motors and a hard-boiled bird if ever I saw one."

As the roll-call proceeded, George was surprised to notice what changes had taken place in the holdings. The name of S. R. Peattie had gone, the Pence Estate was gone; the name of Morris was gone; it gave George a feeling of shivery loneliness. As the answers came back with holdings of shares or proxies, President Judson noted these figures upon his desk blotter with a small gold pencil and kept a running total in his mind, but the totals were small. Aside from his own 36,000 shares and those