"There's luck in odd numbers," observed Semingham.
"But which would be luck?" asked the Baron.
"Ah, there you gravel me," admitted Semingham.
"I came here against orders, because I must needs poke my old nose into this concern of yours——"
"Not of mine."
"Of yours and others. Well, I poked it in—and the frost has caught the end of it."
"I don't take any particular pleasure in the concern myself," said Semingham, "and I wish you'd kept your nose out, and yourself in a more balmy climate."
"My dear Lord, the market is rising."
"I know," smiled Semingham. "Tom Loring can't make out who the fools are who are buying. He said so this morning."
The Baron began to laugh, but a cough choked his mirth.