“Walk in, Mr Sawley,” said I cheerfully. “What a long time it is since I have had the pleasure of seeing you—too long indeed for brother directors. How are Mrs Sawley and Miss Selina—won’t you take a cup of coffee?”
“Grass, sir, grass!” said Mr Sawley, with a sigh like the groan of a furnace-bellows. “We are all flowers of the oven—weak, erring creatures, every one of us. Ah! Mr Dunshunner! you have been a great stranger at Lykewake Terrace!”
“Take a muffin, Mr Sawley. Anything new in the railway world?”
“Ah, my dear sir—my good Mr Augustus Reginald—I wanted to have some serious conversation with you on that very point. I am afraid there is something far wrong indeed in the present state of our stock.”
“Why, to be sure it is high; but that, you know, is a token of the public confidence in the line. After all, the rise is nothing compared to that of several English railways; and individually, I suppose, neither of us have any reason to complain.”
“I don’t like it,” said Sawley, watching me over the margin of his coffee-cup. “I don’t like it. It savours too much of gambling for a man of my habits. Selina, who is a sensible girl, has serious qualms on the subject.”
“Then why not get out of it? I have no objection to run the risk, and if you like to transact with me, I will pay you ready money for every share you have at the present market price.”
Sawley writhed uneasily in his chair.
“Will you sell me five hundred, Mr Sawley? Say the word and it is a bargain.”