“Why don’t you try our new company? Dinsmore writes that the stock was issued last week. We have put only a little on the market.”
“Perhaps I shall want to take a hand. Could you get me some?”
“Earnest?”
She looked at him defiantly.
“You’ll have to ask your uncle. I know where you could get some—old Rantoul. But you had better stay in bricks. They’re safer.”
The two laughed and changed the subject. She had no very definite idea why she desired to take risks, to be richer than she was at present. It was a longing for the risk itself, as much as anything, for having a share in the palpitations of the world.
After déjeuner, when she broached the subject to her uncle, Sebastian Anthon pooh-poohed; his brother had trained him well. Brick-stock was a family god. To sell it, to dabble in other enterprises, was like trading in the family reputation. Opposition, however, made the girl truculent.
“Uncle Seb, did you never want to do anything but the safe thing?”
The old man smiled at her. “I always want the others to do the safe thing.”
“Do you think it would make a nice world if every one did the safe thing and rested there?”