“Did I? Dear me, I believe I did. Well, then, suppose, just suppose that I actually did wish to buy some of those shares. Would you consider it a good thing for me to do?”
Here at last was something tangible—and promising. Mr. Pulcifer's puffy lids drew nearer together to hide the gleam behind them. He took the cigar from his mouth and held it between the fingers of his right hand. During his next speech he gesticulated with it.
“Would I consid—” he began, and then paused, apparently overcome by his feelings. The pause was not long, however. “Would I consider Wellmouth Development a good thing for you to put your money in? WOULD I?”
“Ah—yes. Would you?”
“Say, Perfessor, you listen to me. I know all about Wellmouth Development. You've come to the right place. You listen.”
Galusha listened, listened for a long time. The red of the Pulcifer cigar tip died out and that of the Pulcifer face brightened.
“And so I say,” vowed Raish, in conclusion, “with all that property behind it and all that future ahead of it, if Development ain't a good investment, what is?”
“I don't know, I'm sure,” confessed Galusha. “But—”
“Don't know? You bet you don't know! Nor nobody else. Not for quick returns, maybe—though you can't never tell. But for a feller that's willin' to buy and put away and hang on—say, how can you beat it?”
“I don't know, but—”