"What did you tell him for?" asked the General Agent, not especially impressed.
"Well, I was getting pretty tired of seeing some of those fellows put it over us, and I thought perhaps he'd let us fight fire with—well, fireworks. Instead of which, he flew up to the ceiling. He wants to get out."
"Get out? Out of the Eastern Conference?" Smith inquired with more interest.
"Yes. And such a move might be justified, strictly speaking, but it seems to me a little extreme—just a little uncalled for. There are a few crooked companies in every agreement, concerns that take advantage of the good faith of the rest—like the Protection of Newark—but after all, even under present conditions, we're getting about as much business as we're entitled to, and pretty nearly as much as we're willing to write. What do you think?"
Smith looked sharply at his superior officer.
"Why do you put it up to me?" he asked. "If the President has decided to get out, that settles it—out we go."
"Oh, he hasn't absolutely decided. I thought I'd tell you about it, in case he asked you what you thought."
"I see," replied the General Agent, thoughtfully, and said no more.
"Well?" queried O'Connor, expectantly, after a moment.
"If he asks me, I'll tell him what I think. Is that all, sir?"