Ethics -- Fiction; Religion and sociology -- Fiction; Upper class families -- Fiction
We went through the cool bank, with its shining brass and red mahogany,
its tiled floor, its busy tellers attending to files of clients, to the
president's sanctum in the rear. Leonard Dickinson, very spruce and
dignified in a black cutaway coat, was dictating rapidly to a woman,
stenographer, whom he dismissed when he saw us. The door was shut.
"I was just asking Paret about the telephone affair," said Mr. Tallant.
"Well, have you found a way out?" Leonard Dickinson looked questioningly
at me.
"It's all right," I answered. "I've seen Jason."
"All right!" they both ejaculated at once.
"We win," I said.
They stood gazing at me. Even Dickinson, who was rarely ruffled, seemed
excited.
"Do you mean to say you've fixed it?" he demanded.
I nodded. They stared at me in amazement.
"How the deuce did you manage it?"
"We organize the Interurban Telephone Company, and bid for the
franchise--that's all."
"A dummy company!" cried Tallant. "Why, it's simple as ABC!"
Dickinson smiled. He was tremendously relieved, and showed it.
"That's true about all great ideas, Tallant," he said. "They're simple,
only it takes a clever man to think of them."
"And Jason agrees?" Tallant demanded.
I nodded again. "We'll have to outbid the Automatic people. I haven't
seen Bitter yet about the--about the fee."
"That's all right," said Leonard Dickinson, quickly. "I take off my hat
to you. You've saved us. You can ask any fee you like," he added
genially. "Let's go over to--to the Ashuela and get some lunch." He had
been about to say the Club, but he remembered Mr. Tallant's presence in
time. "Nothing's worrying you, Hugh?" he added, as we went out, followed
by the glances of his employees.
"Nothing," I said....
XVIX.
Making money in those days was so ridiculously easy! The trouble was to
know how to spend it. One evening when I got home I told Maude I had a
surprise for her.
"A surprise?" she asked, looking up from a little pink smock she was
making for Chickabiddy.
"I've bought that lot on Grant Avenue, next to the Ogilvys'."
She dropped her sewing, and stared at me.
"Aren't you pleased?" I asked. "At last we are going to have a house of
our very own. What's the matter?"
"I can't bear the thought of leaving here. I'm so used to it. I've grown
to love it. It's part of me."
"But," I exclaimed, a little exasperated, "you didn't expect to live here
always, did you? The house has been too small for us for years. I thought
you'd be delighted." (This was not strictly true, for I had rather
expected some such action on her part.) "Most women would. Of course, if
it's going to make such a difference to you as that, I'll sell the lot.
That won't be difficult."
I got up, and started to go into my study. She half rose, and her sewing
fell to the floor.
"Oh, why are we always having misunderstandings? Do sit down a minute,
Hugh. Don't think I'm not appreciative," she pleaded. "It was--such a
shock."
I sat down rather reluctantly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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