"You can't—no use of throwing good money after bad. Mighty white of you all the same!"
When he reached the offices, he learned for the first time how deeply the firm had speculated on the information of Drake's intentions. Forshay was cool, with the calm of the sportsman game in the face of ruin, but Flaspoller and Hauk were frantic in their denunciations. It was a trick, a stock-jobbing device of an inner circle. Nothing could justify an additional dividend. The common stock had not been on a two per cent. basis more than three years. Nothing justified it. Some one would go behind the bars for it! Forshay smoked on, shrugging his shoulders, rather contemptuous.
"Hit you hard?" he said to Bojo.
"Looks so. And you?"
"Rather."
"You call up Drake. Maybe he come back," said Flaspoller, ungrammatical in his wrath.
"He won't be in," said Bojo, and for the twentieth time he received the invariable answer.
