“Why should I be ashamed?” he blustered. He moved toward the door.
“I’ll know that,” replied Miss Masters, “when you tell me what kind of live stock you deal in.”
There was a stern quality in Miss Masters’ voice that Druce had noticed in the voice of a district attorney with whom he had once had an unpleasant interview. The man was a coward. He wanted to be off.
“Every kind,” he blurted. “Good day.”
A moment later he found himself in the hallway. “Red,” the office boy, had just come from the elevator.
“What’s the trouble, Druce?” demanded the boy. “You look pale around the gills.”
“You go to hell, you little rat,” retorted Druce, and without waiting for the elevator vanished down the steps, with the jeering laughter of the boy ringing in his ears.