There could be no doubt about the popularity of the Trust. It caught
on instantly.

Nothing else was discussed in the form-rooms at the quarter to eleven
interval, and in the houses after lunch it was the sole topic of
conversation. Dunstable and Linton were bombarded with questions and
witticisms of the near personal sort. To the latter they replied with
directness, to the former evasively.

"What's it all _about?_" someone would ask, fluttering the
leaflet before Dunstable's unmoved face.

"You should read it carefully," Dunstable would reply. "It's all
there."

"But what are you playing at?"

"We tried to make it clear to the meanest intelligence. Sorry you
can't understand it."

While at the same time Linton, in his form-room, would be explaining
to excited inquirers that he was sorry, but it was impossible to reply
to their query as to who was running the Trust. He was not at liberty
to reveal business secrets. Suffice it that there the lines were,
waiting to be bought, and he was there to sell them. So that if
anybody cared to lay in a stock, large or small, according to taste,
would he kindly walk up and deposit the necessary coin?

But here the public showed an unaccountable disinclination to deal. It
was gratifying to have acquaintances coming up and saying admiringly: