Bristed betrayed no interest in his reminiscences. “What do you want of me this time?” he asked bluntly.
“Keep your shirt on,” said Joe coolly. “This is not financial. I’m already making money faster than I can hire safety-deposit boxes.”
“What is it then?”
“I’m going into society.”
Bristed laughed unpleasantly.
Joe did not mind, because it was not assured laughter. Bristed knew quite well that Joe could go into society if he wanted to. “There’s plenty of society already open to me,” Joe went on; “but I’ll have nothing short of the best. The real top-notch. I’ve got money enough already to support the position; and in a few years, if I live, I’ll be one of the big half dozen of this burg.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Bristed bitterly. “You’re marked for it. . . . Do you think I am able to help you get into society?”
“None better,” said Joe. “Your father, and his father before him were in the forefront.”
“Sure!” said Bristed. “My grandfather had the distinction of making money, and my father of spending it. But what have I got?”
“The family name,” suggested Joe.