Mordecai picked up the telephone and asked for one of his partners, who instantly responded.
“Vhat iss ze order?” asked Mordecai, holding the telephone and looking at Galt.
“Buy all the Great Midwestern there is for sale up to one-hundred-and-f-i-f-t-y!” said Galt.
Mordecai transmitted this extraordinary order, put the telephone down softly, and lisped, “My Gott!”
Just then the door burst open. Thirty or forty reporters had been waiting in the outer office all day. Their excitement at last broke bounds; they simply came in. The Evening Post man was at their head.
“Mr. Galt,” he shouted, “you have got to make some kind of statement. Public opinion demands it.”
I expected Galt to explode with rage.
“Postey,” he said, “I don’t know a damn thing about public opinion. That’s your trade. Tell me something about it.”
“It wants to know what all this means,” said Postey.