That was six or eight months ago, and we'd stood for two assessments. Then it turned out there was something wrong with the pulp compressor dingus that was to have shot out containers at the rate of two hundred a minute. Some of us went over to Jersey to see it work; but all it produced while we was there was a groanin' sound and a smell of sour dough. I could have bought out the holdin's of the entire bunch for my return ticket. But the ticket looked above par to me. After that our board meetin's wa'n't such gay affairs. A grouchy lot of tinhorn investors we was, believe me; for the parties young Mr. Woodbury had decoyed into this fool scheme wa'n't Standard Oil plutes or any of the Morgan crowd: mostly salaried men, with a couple of dentists, a retail grocer, and a real estate agent! None of us was stuck on droppin' a thousand or so into a smelly machine that wouldn't behave. Maybe it would next time; but we had our doubts. What we wanted most was to get from under, and this meetin' to-day was called to chew over a proposition for dumpin' the stock on the Curb on the chance that there might be enough suckers to go around. It wouldn't be a cheerful seance, either, and bystanders might not be exactly welcome. Misery may like comp'ny; but it don't yearn for a gallery. So I has to hint to Alvin that as I had a little business meetin' comin' on maybe he wouldn't find it so entertainin'. "Nothing bores me," says he. "Humanity, in all its phases, all its efforts, is interesting." "Huh!" says I. "Humanity beefin' over a dollar it's dropped through a crack wouldn't furnish any Easter card scheme. Talk about grouchy people! You ought to see this bunch, with their egos clutchin' their checkbooks." "Ah!" says Alvin. "A financial deal, is it?" "It was," says I. "These are the obsequies we're about to hold." And he's so prompt with the sympathy dope that I has to sketch the disaster out for him, includin' a description of the container scheme. "Why," says he, "that seems quite practical. Rather a brilliant idea, and far too good to be abandoned without a thorough trial. It appeals strongly to me, Friend McCabe. Besides, I've had some experience in such affairs. Perhaps I could help. Let me try." "I'll put it up to the board," says I. "If they say---- Ah, here comes Doc Fosdick and Meyers the grocer now." They don't appear arm in arm. In fact, at the last session they'd had a hot run-in; so now they takes chairs on opposite sides of the room and glares at each other hostile. A thin, nervous little dyspeptic, Doc Fosdick is; while Meyers is bull necked and red faced. They'd mix about as well as a cruet of vinegar and a pail of lard. Course I has to introduce Alvin, and he insists on shakin' hands cordial.