Breen promptly interrupted him.
“Yes, so Corinne told me. She was in here one day last week and wanted to borrow ten thousand dollars. I told her it didn't grow on trees. Suppose I had given it to her? Where would it be now. Might as well have thrown it in the waste-basket. So I shut down on the whole business—had to.”
Jack waited until his uncle had relieved his mind. The state of the market had something to do with his merciless point of view; increasing irritability, due to loss of sleep, and his habits had more. The outburst over, Jack said in a calm direct voice, watching the effect of the words as a gunner watches a shell from his gun:
“Will you lend it to me, sir?”
Arthur was pacing his private office, casting about in his mind how to terminate the interview, when Jack's shot overhauled him. Garry's sudden death had already led him to waste a few more minutes of his time than he was accustomed to on a morning like this, unless there was business in it.
He turned sharply, looked at Jack for an instant, and dropped into the revolving chair fronting his desk.
Then he said in a tone of undisguised surprise:
“Lend you ten thousand dollars! What for?”
“To clear up some matters of Garry's at Corklesville. The Warehouse matter has been closed out, so Corinne tells me.”
“Oh, that's it, is it? I thought you wanted it for yourself. Who signs for it?”