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Page 87
"Can't make y' out," said Breede.
That thing was getting tiresome.
"You're a puzzle to me, too," said Bean.
"Hanh! Wha's 'at? What kinda puzzle?"
"Same kind," said Bean, brightly.
"Hum!" said Breede, and pretended to search for a missing document. Then
he eyed Bean again.
"Know how much you made on that Federal stuff?"
"I was going to ask a lawyer," confessed Bean. "I got a whole lot of
margins or whatever you call 'em around at that broker's. Maybe he
wouldn't mind letting me know."
"Stock'll be up t' six hundred before week's out; net you 'round four
hund' thous'n'," exploded Breede in his most vicious manner.
"Four hundred thousand margins?" He wanted to be cautious.
"_Dollars_, dammit!" shouted Breede.
Bean was able to remain cool. That amount of money would have meant
nothing to him back on the Nile. Why should it now?
"It wasn't the money I was after," he began, loftily.
"_Hanh!_"
"Principle of the thing!" concluded Bean.
Breede had lost control of his capable under jaw. It sagged limply. At
last he spoke, slowly and with awe in his tone.
"You don't puzzle me any more." He shook his head solemnly. "Not any
more. I _know_ now!"
"Little old steamer--can't swim a stroke," said Bean.
"'S all," said Breede, still shaking his head helplessly.
At his desk outside Bean feigned to be absorbed in an intricate
calculation. In reality he was putting down "400,000," then "$400,000,"
then "$400,000.00" By noon he had covered several pages of his note-book
with this instructive exercise. Once he had written it $398,973.87, with
a half-formed idea of showing it to old Metzeger.
As he was going out Tully trod lightly over a sheet of very thin ice and
accosted him.
"The market was not discouraging to-day," said Tully genially.
"'S good time to buy heavily in margins," said Bean.
"Yes, sir," said Tully respectfully.
In the street he chanted "four hundred thousand dollars" to himself. He
was one of the idle rich. He hoped Cassidy would never hear of it. Then,
passing a steamship office, he recalled the horror that lay ahead of
him. Little old steamer. But was a financier who had been netted four
hundred thousand dollars to be put afloat upon the waters at the whim of
a flapper? She was going too far. He'd better tell her so in plain
words; say, "Look here, I've just netted four hundred thousand dollars,
and no little old steamer for mine. I don't care much for the ocean. We
stay on land. Better understand who's who right at the start."
That is what he would tell the flapper; make it clear to her. She'd had
her own way long enough. Marriage was a serious business. He was still
resolving this when he turned into a shop.
"I want to get a steamer trunk--sailing Wednesday," he said in firm
tones to the clerk.
* * * * *
It was midnight of Tuesday. In the steam-heated apartment Bean paced the
floor. He was attired in the garments prescribed for gentlemen's evening
wear, and he was still pleasantly fretted by the excitement of having
dined with the Breede family at the ponderous town house up east of the
park.
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