It was not long before Amos Kidder, of the Evening Planet, who had received the message, found Mr. Robison in the act of gazing unblinkingly toward the Subtreasury.
“Good morning, Mr. Robison.”
Mr. Robison started as if he had been rudely awakened out of a profound reverie.
“Oh! Kidder! How d'ye do? Ah, yes! Ah—I'd like you to dine with me and a few friends—interesting people. You will—don't be offended!—you will learn why all newspaper articles on the stock-market arouse mirth among the people who pull the wires. What do you say?”
“I say,” replied Kidder, with a good-natured smile, “just this: When and where?” His smile ceased. Mr. Robison had turned his back on his friend. Kidder heard a nasal mumble and made out:
“Here in eight minutes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I shall learn if the Lion ate the man or if it's a case of another day.”
“Mr. Robison, I don't understand—”
“I beg your pardon. I was thinking of the old man who was seen in a front seat at the circus every day. They asked him what he found so interesting, and he said that some day the lion would eat the man and he wanted to be a spectator. Well, one day he was sick. That day the lion ate the lion-tamer. Well, I am here waiting to see Garrettson come out of the cage.”