“Hit it anyway,” he said, as he came down to the dining-room.
After breakfast he went out, walking briskly toward town, unconscious, as he enjoyed the keen edge of the morning, that a troubled face had watched him from the drawing-room window until the intervening houses hid him from view.
When he arrived at Bascomb’s office he found that both Wallie and his father were out. Leaving a note he betook himself to a bookstore and made several purchases, which he addressed and carried to an express office.
Then he idled along the street, gazing casually at the store windows. Finally he stopped at a display of sportsmen’s supplies and entered the shop. After an overhauling of the many-colored coats submitted to his exacting inspection, he selected a heavy fine-textured garment, fawn-colored, and with an edging of tiny blue squares. He again entered the express office, where an obliging but mystified clerk waited upon him, asking his companion at the desk if “Swickey” was a Polish name or what? David overheard the question and said quite seriously, “No, young man, it’s Andalusian for gypsy.”
On his way to Bernard, White & Bascomb’s offices, he paused frequently, engrossed with the plan he was formulating, which was to make Wallie a point-blank offer to join him, eliminate the elder Bascomb from the Northern Improvement Company, and work the proposed plant together with the capital already subscribed. “It looks like piracy, but from what Dr. Leighton tells me, old man Bascomb is on his last legs financially, and that means—well, Bessie is used to luxury; besides, Wallie’s not half bad if he would only brace up and dig in. Perhaps the old man will be glad to sit back and let Wallie go ahead when he finds that he can’t swing it himself. I’ll do it for Bess, anyway, and probably get sat upon for offering.”
“Well, here goes,” he said, as he entered the corridor of the office building. “It smells like bribery and looks like corruption, but I’ll risk it.”
As he waited for the descending elevator, Wallie Bascomb entered the street door.
“Well, Davy, but you’re looking fit and sleek enough to worry the duennas. How are you making it?”
“Making what, Walt?”
“Everything, anything, trouble, feminine anxiety—Say, Davy, I’m right glad to see you around again. You know that little Flossie faithful at the hospital wouldn’t let me see you. Doctor’s orders, you know.”