"Well, what is it, Son?" says he in one of them deep barytones that you
feel all the way through to your backbone.

And this is what I've been sent out either to scare off or buy up!
Still, you can't die but once.

"I'm from Mr. Ellins of the Corrugated Trust," says I.

"Ah!" says he, smilin' easy.

Well, considerin' how my knees was wabblin', I expect I put the
proposition over fairly strong.

"You may tell Mr. Ellins for me," says he, "that I don't intend to
quit."

"Then it's a case of buy," says I. "What's the charter worth, spot
cash?"

"Sorry," says he, "but I'm too busy to talk about that just now. I'm
just starting for North Jersey."

"Suppose I trail along a ways then?" says I. "Mr. Ellins is waitin'
for an answer."

"Is he?" says Percey J. "Then come, if you wish." And what does he do
but tow me down to a big tourin' car and wave me into one of the back
seats with him. Listens quiet to all I've got to say too, while we're
tearin' uptown, noddin' his head now and then, with them wide-set brown