Simultaneously Enoch swung sharply around in his desk chair with a savage glance; not only did he refuse the proffered hand, but left his visitor staring at him bewildered.
“Sit down!” snapped Enoch.
“Well, say!” drawled Ford. “Ain’t you a little mite nervous this mornin’, friend?”
“Sit down!” repeated Enoch curtly, indicating the empty chair beside his desk. “Do not delude yourself for an instant, sir, that you are here to interest me in your laundry stock.”
“Well, that beats all,” declared Ford. “You to be all-fired interested in your note. That’s what you said, wa’n’t it?”
“I’ve been enlightened as to the precise value of that laundry stock of yours, sir,” came Enoch’s sharp reply—“your gilt-edged securities relative to the Household Gem as well.”
Ford started.
“Have, eh? Well, it’s at par. That’s what you wanted—er—that’s what you said you wanted,” he blurted out, slinking into the empty chair and fumbling his dusty derby nervously.
“Well, neighbor, ain’t a minute late, am I?”