He looked me over, and said, “Don’t you know you can’t sell stock in this state unless you get permission from the Commissioner of Corporations?”
I said, “Why did you think I took the trouble to come here?”
He chuckled again, and teetered back and forth in the squeaky swivel chair back of his desk. “You’re a card, Lam,” he said. “You really are.”
“Let’s call me the joker,” I suggested.
“Are you fond of jokes?”
“No. I’m usually wild.”
He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. He interlaced his long, bony fingers, and cracked his knuckles. He did it mechanically as though it was a gesture he used a lot. “Exactly what do you want?”
I said, “I want to beat the Blue Sky Act and sell securities without getting an okay from the Commissioner of Corporations.”
“It’s impossible. There are no legal loopholes.”
I said, “You’re attorney for the Foreclosed Farms Underwriters Company.”