He stepped aside and out of the general room, where the blinds were drawn, into his private office, in order to give his creditors an opportunity to confer privately in regard to his situation.  He had friends in the meeting who were for him.  He waited one, two, nearly three hours while they talked.  Finally Walter Leigh, Judge Kitchen, Avery Stone, of Jay Cooke & Co., and several others came in.  They were a committee appointed to gather further information.

“Nothing more can be done to-day, Frank,” Walter Leigh informed him, quietly.  “The majority want the privilege of examining the books.  There is some uncertainty about this entanglement with the city treasurer which you say exists.  They feel that you’d better announce a temporary suspension, anyhow; and if they want to let you resume later they can do so.”

“I’m sorry for that, gentlemen,” replied Cowperwood, the least bit depressed.  “I would rather do anything than suspend for one hour, if I could help it, for I know just what it means.  You will find assets here far exceeding the liabilities if you will take the stocks at their normal market value; but that won’t help any if I close my doors.  The public won’t believe in me.  I ought to keep open.”

“Sorry, Frank, old boy,” observed Leigh, pressing his hand affectionately.  “If it were left to me personally, you could have all the time you want.  There’s a crowd of old fogies out there that won’t listen to reason.  They’re panic-struck.  I guess they’re pretty hard hit themselves.  You can scarcely blame them.  You’ll come out all right, though I wish you didn’t have to shut up shop.  We can’t do anything with them, however.  Why, damn it, man, I don’t see how you can fail, really.  In ten days these stocks will be all right.”

Judge Kitchen commiserated with him also; but what good did that do?  He was being compelled to suspend.  An expert accountant would have to come in and go over his books.  Butler might spread the news of this city-treasury connection.  Stener might complain of this last city-loan transaction.  A half-dozen of his helpful friends stayed with him until four o’clock in the morning; but he had to suspend just the same.  And when he did that, he knew he was seriously crippled if not ultimately defeated in his race for wealth and fame.

When he was really and finally quite alone in his private bedroom he stared at himself in the mirror.  His face was pale and tired, he thought, but strong and effective.  “Pshaw!” he said to himself, “I’m not whipped.  I’m still young.  I’ll get out of this in some way yet.  Certainly I will.  I’ll find some way out.”

And so, cogitating heavily, wearily, he began to undress.  Finally he sank upon his bed, and in a little while, strange as it may seem, with all the tangle of trouble around him, slept.  He could do that—­sleep and gurgle most peacefully, the while his father paced the floor in his room, refusing to be comforted.  All was dark before the older man—­the future hopeless.  Before the younger man was still hope.