Stick shook his head and smiled gently. “No, I just dropped around to tell you that the deal is off.”
“Off!” shouted Billy Crocker. “What do you mean, off?”
“Why, just off; not on,” explained Stick patiently. “O, double-F, off. Meaning nothing doing, Crocker.”
“Why?” asked Throgmorton darkly.
“Emerson bought,” replied Stick.
“That’s a lie,” cried Billy. “See here, you agreed to sell to us—”
“‘Us’?” Stick’s brows went up.
“To Throg, here,” corrected Billy. “Now you’re welching, and—”
“But, my dear fellow,” protested Stick, thoroughly enjoying the other’s disappointment, “how can I sell what I haven’t got? Be reasonable.”
“Oh, shut up!” wailed Billy. “You make me sick!”