“Dump in the rest of Tampico Pet,” he said wearily. “That ought to hold back until to-morrow.”
“Then what to-morrow?” his broker demanded, “with the bottom out and everybody including the office boys selling short.”
Francis shrugged his shoulders. “You know I’ve mortgaged the house, Dreamwold, and the Adirondack Camp to the limit.”
“Have you any friends?”
“At such a time!” Francis countered bitterly.
“Well, it’s the very time,” Bascom retorted. “Look here, Morgan. I know the set you ran with at college. There’s Johnny Pathmore——”
“And he’s up to his eyes already. When I smash he smashes. And Dave Donaldson will have to readjust his life to about one hundred and sixty a month. And as for Chris Westhouse, he’ll have to take to the movies for a livelihood. He always was good at theatricals, and I happen to know he’s got the ideal ‘film’ face.”
“There’s Charley Tippery,” Bascom suggested, though it was patent that he was hopeless about it.
“Yes,” Francis agreed with equal hopelessness. “There’s only one thing the matter with him——his father still lives.”
“The old cuss never took a flyer in his life,” Bascom supplemented. “There’s never a time he can’t put his hand on millions. And he still lives, worse luck.”