Day after day he dog-trotted through a feverish Routine of unpacking and packing, and then climbing back to the superheated Day Coach among the curdled Smells.
Every January 1st he did a Gaspard Chuckle when he checked up the total Get, for now he owned two Brick Buildings and had tasted a little Blood in the way of Chattel Mortgages.
One of the partners in the Jobbing Concern happened to die. Before
Rigor Mortis could set in or the Undertaker had time to flash a Tape
Measure, Aleck was up at the grief-stricken Home to cop out an Option
on the Interest.
Now he could give the Cackle to all the Knights of the Road who had blown their Substance along the gay White Ways of Crawfordsville, Bucyrus, and Sedalia.
He was the real Gazook with a Glass Cage, a sliding Desk and a whole
Battery of Rubber Stamps.
In order to learn every Kink of the Game, freeze out the other Holders
of Stock and gradually possess himself of all the Money in the World,
Aleck now found it necessary to organize himself into both a Day and a
Night Shift and have his Lunches brought in.
The various Smoothenheimers who were out on the Road had a proud chance to get by with the padded Expense Account. Aleck could smell a Phoney before he opened the Envelope, because that is how he got His.
With a three-ton Burden on his aching Shoulders, he staggered up the flinty Incline.
Away back yonder, while sleeping above the Store, a vision had come to him. He saw himself sitting as a Director at a Bank Meeting—an enlarged and glorified Fishberry.
Now he was playing Fox and pulling for the Dream to work out.