“It shall be on me,” said Wayland. “I can afford it. I made a fortune today.”
“How?” said Doane. “Did you bankrupt another railroad?”
“No; like Joseph I cornered wheat, and made a million. Will you help me spend it?”
“Yes. Buy a newspaper, and employ Salmon there. He’s a most expensive luxury,” said Doane.
“What reason have you for always jumping on me?” said Salmon. “Did I not safely escort you through seven libel suits last year?”
“Yes, and how much of our stock do you now hold in the way of fee?”
“Let’s cease this merriment,” said Wayland, in either real or assumed sadness. “I am in mourning. The City of Hamburg has just arrived, and brings the news that ‘La Petite Goldie’ died at sea, and was buried beneath the cruel waves of the unfeeling Atlantic.”
“Another $50,000 you will have to credit to profit and loss,” said Doane.
“Was that another of Gould’s operative speculations?” asked Salmon.