Saunders came to his feet with a whoop of delight.
“Feminine instinct, by George!” he shouted, his repressed mirth breaking out in a roar of laughter. “Bob, old man, she made me sell out the whole blamed bunch around ninety! So help me, she did, and we did!”
Bowen stared from one to the other, staggered. He could not at first grasp the reality of what had taken place.
“You’re not trying just to brace me up—”
“Rats!” Saunders clapped him on the shoulders happily. “Not a bit of it. I’m a cold-blooded business man, and I don’t give a whoop about bracing you up! As a matter of fact, I did not get control of the stock after all. Henderson’s holdings never did come on the market, you know, except in part. So when I saw how things were going, I let Miss Ferguson boss the job. And it’s blamed lucky I did!”
“Great Jehu!” said Bowen slowly. “Then—then we’re not broke after all—”
“Not by two hundred thousand or so! Which, I judge, our friend Dickover pays—”
Bowen came to his feet, a trifle unsteadily.
“Gus,” he said, his voice solemn, but a twinkle in his gray eyes, “this can only happen once in a lifetime. Thank Heaven it happened in my lifetime! Now, see here. It was Miss Ferguson who saved the bacon to-day, and I want to tell you that she’s too good a partner to lose. Would you mind making this a real private office for a few minutes?”
With a blank look that swiftly changed to a grin of comprehension, Mr. Saunders left.