“Yes, in his office, in the—ah—banking house, you know.”
“Do you mean to say you used to work for Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot? Were you a banker?”
Galusha shook his head. “No,” he said. “Dear me, no! But once I tried to be.”
“Oh! And you gave it up?”
“I was given up—as a bad job. If you don't mind,” he added, apologetically, “I'd rather not talk about that. I've gotten over it a long while ago, or I thought I had, but for a time I—I felt very badly—ah—ungrateful, you know.”
Martha didn't know, nor did she in the least understand, but she did not, of course, press the subject.
“Why, I can hardly believe it,” she said. “That about your bein' that Mr. Cabot's cousin, I mean. But of course I do believe it, if you say so, Mr. Bangs. And you think he would tell me what to do with this Development stock of mine, whether it is worth anything or not? He would know, if anybody did, that's a fact.”
Galusha nodded assent.
“He knows all about everything,” he declared; “everything of that kind, I mean. He is used to making all sorts of—ah—investments for people, and taking care of their money, and all that sort of thing. Why,” he added, as a final clincher, “he takes care of all my money, really, he does.”
Miss Phipps laughed.