"Suppose, Torchy," breaks in Mr. Robert, tossing back the letter, "you answer the lady in your own direct and lucid way. You might suggest that we are neither highwaymen nor the Associated Charities, using any little whim of sarcasm that occurs to you."
I'd just thought out a real snappy come-back too, and was dictatin' it to a stenographer, when Old Hickory happens to drift by with his ear out. He stops short.
"Hold on," says he. "What Mrs. Bagstock is that?"
"Why, the peevish one, I expect, sir," says I.
"Let's see that letter," says he.
I passes it over.
"Huh!" he goes on, rubbin' his chin reminiscent. "I wonder if that could be—er—young man, I think I'll answer this myself."
"Oh, very well, sir," says I, shruggin' my shoulders careless.
Must have been half an hour later when Old Hickory calls me into the private office, and I finds him still gazin' at the scented note.
"Torchy," says he, glancin' keen at me from Tinder his bushy eyebrows, "this Mrs. Bagstock seems to think we are using her badly. As a matter of fact, those Inter-Lake shareholders were lucky. We might have frozen them out altogether. You understand, eh?"