"If you think it could be done----"
"I feel convinced of it, sir."
"What do you think, Bertie?"
"I'm for it, old boy, absolutely. A very brainy wheeze."
"Thank you, sir. Will there be anything further? Good night, sir."
And he floated out, leaving us to discuss details.
Until we started this business of floating old Chiswick as a money-making
proposition I had never realized what a perfectly foul time those Stock
Exchange chappies must have when the public isn't biting freely. Nowadays
I read that bit they put in the financial reports about "The market
opened quietly" with a sympathetic eye, for, by Jove, it certainly opened
quietly for us! You'd hardly believe how difficult it was to interest
the public and make them take a flutter on the old boy. By the end of the
week the only name we had on our list was a delicatessen-store keeper
down in Bicky's part of the town, and as he wanted us to take it out in
sliced ham instead of cash that didn't help much. There was a gleam of
light when the brother of Bicky's pawnbroker offered ten dollars, money
down, for an introduction to old Chiswick, but the deal fell through,
owing to its turning out that the chap was an anarchist and intended to
kick the old boy instead of shaking hands with him. At that, it took me
the deuce of a time to persuade Bicky not to grab the cash and let things
take their course.
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