“Here is an idiot,” said Cornish, while we were placing the paper to float the Trescott deal, “who is calling his loans; and why, do you think?”
“Can’t guess,” said Jim, “unless he needs the money. How does he account for it?”
“Read his letter,” said Cornish. “Says the Fleischmann failure in London is making his directors cautious. I’m calling his attention to the now prevailing sun-spots, as bearing on Lattimore property.”
Mr. Elkins read the letter carefully, turned it over, and read it again.
“Don’t,” said he; “he may be one of those asses who fail to see the business value of the reductio ad absurdum.... Fellows, we must push this L. & G. W. business with Pendleton. Some of us ought to be down there now.”
“That is wise counsel,” I agreed, “and you’re the man.”
“No,” said he positively, “I’m not the man. Cornish, can’t you go, starting, say, to-morrow?”
“No indeed,” said Cornish with equal positiveness; “since my turn-down by Wade on that bond deal, I’m out of touch with the lower Broadway and Wall Street element. It seems clear to me that you are the only one to carry this negotiation forward.”
“I can’t go, absolutely,” insisted Jim. “Al, it seems to be up to you.”
I knew that Jim ought to do this work, and could not understand the reasons for both himself and Cornish declining the mission. Privately, I told him that it was nonsense to send me; but he found reasons in plenty for the course he had determined upon. He had better control of the hot air, he said, but as a matter of fact I was more in Pendleton’s class than he was, I was more careful in my statements, and I saw further into men’s minds.