“The kid’s smart.”
“If you take that attitude, Joe…”
“It’s not my attitude,” I said. “It’s the attitude of the whole business world. When Bill grows up…”
“When he grows up, he’ll be in prison. Why, the way he trades, you’d swear he was training to be a con man!”
“All right, I’ll talk to him.”
I went back into the den because the atmosphere wasn’t exactly as friendly as it might have been and, anyhow, I had to send out those cheques, stamps or no stamps.
I got the pile of bills and the cheque-book and the fountain pen out of the drawer. I reached out and picked up the Bildo-Block to put it to one side, so I’d have a good, clear space to work on. But the moment I picked it up, I knew that this thing was no Bildo-Block.
It was the fight size and weight and was black and felt like plastic, except that it was slicker than any plastic I had ever felt.
It felt as if it had oil on it, only it didn’t.
I set it down in front of me and pulled the desk lamp closer.