Bobby turned on him like a flash.
“Look here, Payne,” said he. “Where is your interest in this?”
“My interest?” repeated Payne blankly.
“Yes, your interest. What have you to gain by having me sell out?”
“Why, really, Bobby—” began Payne, thinking to temporize.
“You’re here for that purpose, and must tell me why,” insisted Bobby sternly, tapping his finger on the desk.
“Well, if you must know,” stammered Payne, taken out of himself by sheer force of Bobby’s manner, “my respected and revered—”
“I see,” said Bobby.
“The—the pater is thinking of entering politics next year, and he rather wants an organ.”
“And Nick, where’s yours?”