“You’d never get an offer,” snapped Johnson to Applerod, “for you haven’t any to sell. Why do you ask, Mr. Burnit?”
Bobby regarded Johnson thoughtfully for a moment.
“I know how to make the Brightlight Electric Company yield me two hundred per cent. dividends within a year or less,” he stated.
“Through Stone?” inquired Johnson.
“Through Stone,” admitted Bobby, smiling at Johnson’s penetration.
“I thought so. I guess your father has summed up, better than I could put it, all there is to be said upon that subject.” And from his index-file he produced one of the familiar gray envelopes, inscribed:
To My Son Robert Upon the Subject of Bribery
“When a man sells his independence and the faith of his friends he is bankrupt. Both the taker and the giver of a bribe, even when it is called ‘preferment,’ are like dogs with fleas; they yelp in their sleep; only the man gets callous after a while and the dog doesn’t. Whoever the fellow is that’s trying to buy your self-respect, go soak him in the eye, and pay your fine.”
“For once I agree most heartily with the governor,” said Bobby, and as a result he did not go to see Stone. Moreover, Frank L. Sharpe was blackballed at the Idlers’ Club with cheerful unanimity, and Bobby figuratively squared his shoulders to receive the blow that he was convinced must certainly fall.