Raish leaned back in his chair and scrutinized the questioner. He shot at least five deep-drawn puffs of smoke into the already murky air of the little office before replying.
“Humph!” he grunted, after the fifth puff. “Wellmouth Development Company, eh? You're interested in that, are you?”
“Why—ah—yes, yes. To a certain extent, yes, Mr. Pulcifer.”
“Humph! What d'you mean, interested? How interested?”
“Why, as—ah—as an investment, you know. As something to put one's money into.”
“Humph! Was you thinkin' of puttin' some of yours into it?”
“Why, not exactly. But, you see, a friend of mine—But, really, I think I shouldn't give any further particulars at the present time. You'll excuse me under the circumstances, Mr. Pulcifer, I'm sure. Dear me, I hope you will.”
He was forgiven. Mr. Pulcifer assured him to that effect. But Raish was still uncertain just how to proceed. He continued to puff and scrutinize.
“What I wish to know,” continued his caller, after another moment's interval, “is—well, in short, I should like to know your opinion of Wellmouth Development shares as an investment security.”
“Um—ye-es. Well, you said that before.”