His facial expression might have indicated any or
all of a variety of feelings. At last, he stammered a question. Why did
Mr. Pulcifer wish to obtain the Development stock? This question Raish
would not answer.
"Never mind," he said. "I do, that's all. And I've got the money to do
it with. I'll pay cash for their stock and I'll pay you cash when you or
they hand it over. That's business, ain't it?"
"But--but, dear me, Mr. Pulcifer, why do you ask ME to do this? Why--"
"Ain't I told you? You're a friend of mine and I'm givin' you the chance
because I think you need the money. That's a reason, ain't it?"
"Why--yes. It is--ah--a reason. But why don't you buy the stock
yourself?"
For an instant Raish's smoothness deserted him. His temper flared.
"Because the cussed fools won't sell it to me," he snapped. "That is,
they ain't said they'd sell yet. Perhaps they're prejudiced against
me, I don't know. Maybe they will sell to you; you and they seem to
be thicker'n thieves. Er--that is, of course, you understand I don't
mean--Oh, well, you know what I mean, Perfessor. Now what do you say?"
Galusha rose and picked up his hat from the floor.
"I'm afraid I must say no," he said, quietly, but with a firmness which
even Raish Pulcifer's calloused understanding could not miss. "I could
not think of accepting, really."
"But, say, Perfessor--"
"No, Mr.
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