"Not yet." Armstrong dismissed his secretary and set forth cigars. "Everything fine."
"Sure, but let's have details. I need 'em this morning." Macgowan chuckled as he surveyed his friend. "You're looking fit. How's the country estate?"
"Fine. What do you want details on—winter gardens or sales campaign?"
"Food Products, mostly. I'm curious to know what's going on."
Armstrong opened a drawer of his desk and brought forth some typed sheets.
Consolidated Securities occupied the three top floors of a building in the late thirties, but was cramped for room. Already Armstrong was planning the lease of an entire building in the forties—a lease to become ownership later. The New Year would be time enough to take that up. For the present, he wanted to get upon absolutely solid ground, financially. He had no ambition to be the center of a wild selling drive which would go smash upon the rocks of inflation.
His own office was quietly handsome without being ornate. Just as he wanted the business to be out of Wall Street and well uptown, so he wanted everything around him to be of the best without ostentation. The looks of a business, like the dress of a man, have a certain definite value; Armstrong did not make the error of either over- or under-estimating that value.
"Food Products," he responded, "is sold. The campaign is going well, and it'll be a profitable campaign for the Armstrong Company if it ends as well as it has begun. By the way, I'm going to merge the company into Consolidated later on. It's a bit loose; too much my own affair. I want everything in Consolidated."
"Isn't it merged enough now to suit you?"
"No. At present, I could draw the Armstrong Company out bodily, and I'm going to change that—say, next spring, after the annual meeting of Consolidated. But never mind that now. I have another and more immediate change afoot. I've determined to keep Food Products in the hands of our own original investors in this part of the country. The stock-selling organization is spread too far out."