"'Fraid he'd get mad's 'ell an' quit me," said Breede. "Only st'nogfer ever found gimme minute's peace. Dunno why—talk aw ri'. He un'stan's me; res' drive me 'sane."
"Plug's pulled, anyway," commented the quiet director. "Only thing to do is haul in what we can on a rising market. God knows where she'll stop."
"Pound her down," said the largest director sagely.
"Any pounding now will pound her up."
"Hold off and let it die down."
"Only make it worse. No use; we've got to cut that money up."
"Seven hundred shares, did he say?" asked the large director. "Very pretty indeed! J.B., I'll only give you one guess whether he quits his job or not."
"Thasso!" admitted Breede dejectedly.
"He'll show up all right in the morning, mark me," said the largest director, regaining confidence.
"Sneaking snake in the grass," muttered the oldest director, yet without his wonted vim.