"Do you happen to know if your wife bought any?"
"No, she didn't. I heard later that the company was no good, so I did not mention it to her."
"Too bad," said United Beef. "Too bad."
"What do you mean, too bad?"
"Well, a rather remarkable thing has happened. Quite a romance in its way. As a motion-picture company the thing was, as you say, no good. Couldn't seem to do anything right. But yesterday, when a workman started to dig a hole on the lot to put up a 'For Sale' sign, I'm darned if he didn't strike oil."
The solid outlines of United Beef shimmered uncertainly before Mr. Waddington's horrified eyes.
"Oil?" he gurgled.
"Yes, sir. Oil. What looks like turning out the biggest gusher in the south-west."
"But—but—do you mean to say, then, that the shares are—are really worth something?"
"Only millions, that's all. Merely millions. It's a pity you didn't buy some. This caviare," said United Beef, champing meditatively, "is good. That's what it is, Waddington—good. I think I'll have another slice."