"And will you give me your word of honor," Bofinger said with a smile, "that Max Fargus has no account here under any other name? But that, of course, Mr. Gilday, I realize I have no right to ask. However—"
"One moment," Gilday interrupted, "it's true that I should not ordinarily answer such a question; but in the present case, I assure you that we have no dealings directly or indirectly with Mr. Max Fargus."
Bofinger shrugged his shoulders good-humoredly, as a man who does not hold a falsehood against another, and replied:
"And may I ask how you reconciled that with your statement that the restaurant account is still with you?"
"But what has that to do with Max Fargus?" Gilday asked with a trace of impatience. "The Max Fargus Restaurant Company is an independent firm."
"Since when?" Bofinger said, smiling at what seemed to him the successive blunders of the banker.
"Since seven years ago. I remember the transaction perfectly," Gilday replied. "A month before his departure Mr. Fargus sold outright his various restaurants, stipulating only that the name should be retained for eight years. Mr. MacGruder, a client of mine, bought the property, being only too glad to retain the name which has always been a guarantee with the public. For that reason the deal was a secret one."
"Mr. Gilday," Bofinger said sharply, thinking that the banker had abused his good nature long enough. "Do you forget the simple fact that no man can transfer his property without his wife's consent? To clear matters up, let me tell you now that I represent the widow of Max Fargus, and that she is my wife."
"Thank you, I am aware of such elemental law. I now repeat to you that Max Fargus sold out seven years ago—with the consent of his wife."