“It is for a little boy I know who has been bereaved of his first teddy by the activities of the family pig. You will renew some pleasant acquaintanceships, Linder. You remember Transley and his wife—Zen, of the Y.D?”
“You don’t say! Thanks for that tip about dressing up. I may explain,” Linder continued, turning to Murdoch, “there was a time when I might have been an also-ran in the race for Y.D.‘s daughter, only Transley beat me on the getaway.”
“You!” Grant exclaimed, incredulously.
“You, too!” Linder returned, a great light dawning.
“Well, Mr. Grant,” said Murdoch, “I brought you a good cigar, bought at the company’s expense. It comes out of the organization fund. You must be sick of those cheap cigars.”
“Since the war it is nothing but Player’s,” Grant returned, taking the proffered cigar. “They tell me it has revolutionized the tobacco business. However, this does smell a bit all right. How goes our venture, Murdoch? Have I any prospect of being impoverished in a worthy cause?”
“None whatever. Your foreman here is spending every dollar in a way to make you two in spite of your daft notion—begging your pardon, sir—about not taking profits. The subscribers are coming along for stock, but fingering it gently, as though they can’t well believe there’s no catch in it. They say it doesn’t look reasonable, and I tell them no more it is.”
“And then they buy it?”
“Aye, they do. That’s human nature. There’s as many members booked now as can be accommodated in the first colony. I suppose they reason that they will be sure of their winter’s housing, anyway.”
“You don’t seem to have much faith in human nature, Murdoch.”