"What is it to you," demanded Ellis in jarring tones, "where the price of the stock is, up or down? It cost you nothing, it pays you well, it's a sure thing. Just you hold it and send me your proxies."
"But," suggested Price, very much brow-beaten, yet endeavouring to say what he came for, "if it's such a good thing, won't you, perhaps, take it?"
"What!" rasped Ellis. "My God, Price, haven't you the decency to sit still and say nothing?"
"Oh, well," mumbled the jeweller, writhing, "if the stock is so sure—you're sure it's solid?"
"Certainly," Ellis said. "Price, don't be an ass! The other side is just selling itself a share or two, every little while, to make the impression that the value is falling. Don't you be taken in."
"Oh, if that's all!" breathed Price, much relieved. He took his hat.
"There, run along," said Ellis. "You know who are your best friends." He spoke as if directing a child, and Price went away with an irritated sense of his own impotence and meanness.
But Ellis found no relief in scolding his dependents. He missed something; he knew that he needed a place where he might sit quiet and forget the grind and grime of his affairs. The best that was left to him was Mrs. Harmon, but she never could equal Judith, and when he went to see her now she bothered him with her advice.
"I wanted to see you," were her first words. "I have been thinking of telephoning you."
"What is it now?" he asked drearily.