“You wouldn't. Why not, for thunder sakes?”
“Because—well, I am sure you were speaking hastily—without thinking.”
“Is that so? How do YOU know I wasn't thinkin'?”
“Because I am sure no one who had stopped to think would send that sort of message to a lady.”
“Humph!... Well, I swear!... Wouldn't send—I want to know!”
“Yes—ah—and now you do know. Good-day, Mr. Pulcifer.”
He was at the door when the surprised and, to tell the truth, somewhat disconcerted Horatio called after him.
“Here! Hold on, Perfessor,” he hailed; “don't go off mad. I didn't mean nothin'. Er—er—say, Perfessor, I don't know's there's any use in your tellin' Martha what I said about them Development shares bein' cheap at eighteen. Of course, that was all—er—more or less of a joke, you understand, and—Eh? What say?”
“I said I understood, Mr. Pulcifer.”
“Yes—er—yes, yes. Glad you do; I thought you would. Now I tell you what to do: You tell Martha... you tell her... say, what ARE you goin' to tell her?”