“No doubt he does, but I don’t. And how can I keep my records properly if I don’t know? I can’t bother Mr. Boland with these details. What is your business?”
“Why—ah—” hesitated Druce. “Live stock.”
“What kind of live stock?” persisted Miss Masters, preparing to write down his answer.
“Eh!” Druce began to feel that he was being badgered.
“What kind of live stock do you deal in?”
“See here,” snarled Druce, “what are you trying to do?”
Miss Masters’ answer was perfectly calm. “I am trying,” she said, “to find out what kind of live stock you deal in, Mr. Druce.”
“Forget it!”
“Are you ashamed to tell me?”
Druce turned on the girl as though stung.