“Yes; but it wouldn't go. Too much madam there. Let me tell you this, Mr. Halloran. Don't you ever go into partnership with a man and his wife. It's hell on wheels.”
“They didn't get on well, then?”
“No; the only payin' thing in the combination was the name. Le Duc's one of the best names in the profession, an' he's been more'n square about lettin' me go on an' use it.”
“I saw them a little while ago at their hotel. He seems to have struck a good thing now.”
“Yes, they say he's a big man on the Board.”
“How did he ever get into it? There must be somebody behind him.”
Jimmie fingered his fork and looked up with an expressionless face. “Is they?” he asked.
Halloran tried again. “I don't know, but I'm inclined to think there's more in it than the papers say.”
Jimmie, for some reason, chose to give no information whatever on this question. And Halloran had the questionable pleasure of bidding him good-evening in the consciousness that he was no nearer what he wanted to know than he had been in Wauchung. The next step was a matter of careful thinking; he was not even sure that there could be a next step. Meantime, he had an errand at the Le Ducs', and as it was not yet eight o'clock he decided to run up there.
The great event had taken place in the Le Duc household. And when Halloran was shown into the apartment, he found a happy father in his shirt-sleeves dancing about a small white bundle on the sofa, a beaming mother also in dishabille, and a simpering nurse-maid. Apples was cordial, merry, expansive; he was delighted to see his old friend Halloran—fairly dragged him in. Good stories and playful allusions were continually rising in his mind and finding expression. He was boisterously demonstrative, and given to squeezing his wife's hand or slipping his arm around her as his tongue rattled along.