When I was finally admitted, he rose and came halfway through his splendors of upholstery to give me an Olympian greeting.
"It's brass tacks," I said. "Three minutes will do."
"Four, if you like."
"Three. Frankly, very frankly, is this a thing"—here I used the large page of ornamental letter-press as word-saver—"is this a thing for an ordinary investor?"
"Ordinary investor"—that is what I called Raymond. Perhaps I flattered him unduly.
"Why," responded McComas, with a grimace, "it's a right enough thing for the right man—or men. Several of us expect to do pretty well out of it."
"'Several'? How about the rank outsider?"
"Anybody that you know sniffing?"
"Yes."
"Who?"