“Well,” observed Ruggles decidedly, tapping the end of his pencil on his desk and leaning forward to emphasise his words, “we're not selling NOW. That's said and signed, Mr. Annixter.”
“Why not? Come, spit it out. What's the bunco game this time?”
“Because we're not ready. Here's your check.”
“You won't take it?”
“No.”
“I'll make it a cash payment, money down—the whole of it—payable to Cyrus Blakelee Ruggles, for the P. and S. W.”
“No.”
“Third and last time.”
“No.”
“Oh, go to the devil!”