“Well,” says I, “how’s that work scornin’ pet of yours gettin’ on these days?”
“Marston?” says he. “Why, haven’t you heard? Mr. Marston is away on a vacation.”
“Vacation!” says I. “He needs it, he does!”
“The company thought so,” says Pyramid. “They gave him six months’ leave with pay. He’s hunting reindeer or musk ox somewhere up in British Columbia.”
“Him a hunter?” says I. “G’wan!”
Pyramid grins. “He did develop a liking for the wilderness rather suddenly,” says he; “but that is where he is now. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if he stayed up there for a year or more.”
“What’s the joke?” says I, catchin’ a flicker in them puffy eyes of Pyramid’s.
“Why, just this,” says he. “Mr. Marston, you know, is secretary of the Consolidated Holding Company.”
“Yes, I read about that,” says I. “What then?”
“It pains me to state,” says Mr. Gordon, “that in his capacity of secretary Mr. Marston seems to have sanctioned transactions which violate the Interstate Commerce act.”