They shook hands as if nothing were in the air, and then compared watches to see if the train were on time. This done, Waldron took off his glasses, swung them on their black cord, and began to polish them nervously, blinking with short-sighted eyes into the space that hurried past the car windows. Cargan offered him a cigar, but he put it aside quickly.
'No, thank you; no, thank you—Well—they cut the dividend.' He looked at Cargan with a wan smile. 'What'll I do, Cargan? They told me I'd find you on the train, and I thought I'd ask your advice.'
Cargan was relieved. 'Sell, Mr. Waldron,' he answered earnestly, 'sell right off. That Brogan crowd's runnin' the company now, and they're no good, sell quick.'
Waldron looked at him in doubt. 'How much do I lose?' he asked feebly.
'’Bout six thousand'—against his will Cargan made the tone apologetic. 'Say, put up only five thousand more collateral and we'll carry you till better luck.'
The old man blinked rapidly, then conquered his pride. With punctilious care he unbuttoned his gray cutaway, took out a wallet from under the button of the Society of Colonial Wars, drew forth a sheet of note paper, and with a pencil inscribed a broad O. 'There's my collateral, Mr. Cargan,' he said whimsically.
He was so helpless, and so elegant in his helplessness, that the bully awoke in Cargan. With an effort he broke through the nervous deference with which Waldron always inspired him and spoke roughly:—
'We don't do business without either collateral or cash, Waldron.'
The gentleman put his wallet back hurriedly as if some one had laughed at it, and cast a quick, hurt look at his broker.
'You haven't been thinking of selling me out—after all the business I've given you?'