“You seem to know exactly the right things to say, as if you knew all about me. What day’s today?”
“Wednesday.”
“Then the last time I saw Pris was one week ago today, last Wednesday. She phoned and asked me to have lunch with her, and I did. She wanted to know if I would come to a special meeting of Softdown stockholders on July first, the day after her twenty-fifth birthday.”
“Did you say you would?”
“No. That’s another way my mind is funny. Since my father died, seven years ago, and left me twelve thousand shares of Softdown stock, I have never gone near the place, for meetings or anything else. I get a very good income from it, but I don’t know one single thing about it. Have you met a man named Perry Helmar?”
I said I had.
“Well, he’s been after me for years to come to meetings, but I wouldn’t, because I was afraid that if I did something would happen to the business that would reduce my income, and it would be my fault. Why should I run a risk like that when all I had to do was stay away? Do you know any of those people down there — Brucker and Quest and Pitkin and that Viola Duday?”
I said I did.
“Well, they’ve been after me too, every one of them at different times, to give them a proxy to vote my stock at a meeting, and I wouldn’t do that either. I didn’t—”
“You mean give them a proxy jointly — all of them?”