“Why not?” I asked.
“Oh—I don't know. You see—the fact is—well, they're a lot of old fogies up there. You don't want to bother with that push, Matt. Take my advice. Do business with them, but avoid them socially.”
“I want to go in there,” I insisted. “I have my own reasons. You put me up.”
“I tell you, it'd be no use,” he replied, in a tone that implied he wished to hear no more of the matter.
“You put me up,” I repeated. “And if you do your best, I'll get in all right. I've got lots of friends there. And you've got three relatives in the committee on membership.”
At this he gave me a queer, sharp glance—a little fright in it.
I laughed. “You see, I've been looking into it, Sam. I never take a jump till I've measured it.”
“You'd better wait a few years, until—” he began, then stopped and turned red.
“Until what?” said I. “I want you to speak frankly.”
“Well, you've got a lot of enemies—a lot of fellows who've lost money in deals you've engineered. And they'd say all sorts of things.”