“It's just a fancy of mine,” said the other, with his first smile. “I like to hold shares that are making sensational advances. It is very exciting.”
“All right,” said Thorpe, in accents of resignation. He wrote out two letters, accepting the wording which Semple suggested from his perch on the desk, and then the latter, hopping down, took the chair in turn and wrote a cheque.
“Do you want it open?” he asked over his shoulder. “Are you going to get it cashed at once?”
“No—cross it,” said the other. “I want it to go through my bankers. It'll warm their hearts toward me. I shan't be going till the end of the week, in any event. I suppose you know the Continent by heart.”
“On the contrary, very little indeed. I've had business in Frankfort once, and in Rotterdam once, and in Paris twice. That is all.”
“But don't you ever do anything for pleasure?” Thorpe asked him, as he folded the cheque in his pocket-book.
“Oh yes—many things,” responded the broker, lightly. “It's a pleasure, for example, to buy Rubber Consols at par.”
“Oh, if you call it buying,” said Thorpe, and then softened his words with an apologetic laugh. “I didn't tell you, did I? I've been spending Saturday and Sunday with Plowden—you know, the Lord Plowden on my Board.”
“I know of him very well,” observed the Scotchman.
“Has he a place that he asks people down to, then? That isn't the usual form with guinea-pigs.”