Took _his_ money to buy one of
'em with!" He waved a careless arm at the smouldering-vessel across the
table. They were all gasping, in horror, in disgust. He was a little
embarrassed. He sought to smooth the thing over a bit with his next
words.
"Eagle shot down with its own feather," he said, hazily recalling
something that had seemed very poetic when he read it.
"Wha'd I tell you? Wha'd I _tell_ you!" shouted the oldest director,
doing an intricate dance step.
"Hold 'ny Federal?" asked Breede.
"A block or two; several margins of it," said Bean.
"How many shares?"
"Have to ask Kennedy & Balch; they're my brokers. I guess about some
seven or eight hundred shares."
"Wha'd I tell you? Wha'd I _tell_ you?" again shouted the oldest
director, and, as if despairing of an answer, he swore surprisingly for
one of his refined garniture and aroma.
"Find out something in this office?" asked Breede, evenly.
"Why wouldn't I? I found out something the minute you sent people to me
with that 'By the way--' stuff. I knew it as quick as you had them
breaking their ankles trying to get my fifty shares. Knew it the very
minute you sent that--that slinking gazelle to me." He pointed at Tully.
[Illustration: "Oh, put up your trinkets!" said Bean, with a fine
affectation of weariness]
He had not meant to call Tully that. It rushed out. Tully wriggled
uneasily in his chair at the desk, blushed well into his yellow beard,
then drew out a kerchief of purest white silk and began nervously to
polish his glasses.
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