“I've been exercisin' my thinker some the last few months,” observed Mr. Tooting, seating himself on the desk.
“Aren't you afraid of nervous prostration, Ham?”
“Say,” exclaimed Mr. Tooting, with a vexed laugh, “why are you always jollying me? You ain't any older than I am.”
“I'm not as old, Ham. I don't begin to have your knowledge of the world.”
“Come off,” said Mr. Tooting, who didn't know exactly how to take this compliment. “I came in here to have a serious talk. I've been thinking it over, and I don't know but what you did right.”
“Well, Ham, if you don't know, I don't know how I am to convince you.”
“Hold on. Don't go twistin' around that way—you make me dizzy.” He lowered his voice confidentially, although there was no one within five walls of them. “I know the difference between a gold brick and a government bond, anyhow. I believe bucking the railroad's going to pay in a year or so. I got on to it as soon as you did, I guess, but when a feller's worn the collar as long as I have and has to live, it ain't easy to cut loose—you understand.”
“I understand,” answered Austen, gravely.
“I thought I'd let you know I didn't take any too much trouble with Meader last summer to get the old bird to accept a compromise.”
“That was good of you, Ham.”