He regretted that he had not been more emphatic about those cuffs.  And Breede had said it after witnessing that salute from the pitcher’s box!  He must be a hard man to convince of anything.  What more proof did he want?

Buzz!  Buzz!  Buzz!

The man who couldn’t make him out was calling for him.  For an hour longer he took down the man’s words, not sneering pointedly at the cuffs, yet allowing it to be seen that he was conscious of them.  A puzzle was he?

“—­Hopin’ t’ave promp’ action accordin’ ’bove ’structions, remain yours ver’ truly she’s got it all reasoned out,” concluded Breede.

“She just told me,” said Bean; “little old steamer sailing Wednesday.”

“Can’t make y’ out,” said Breede.

That thing was getting tiresome.

“You’re a puzzle to me, too,” said Bean.

“Hanh!  Wha’s ’at?  What kinda puzzle?”

“Same kind,” said Bean, brightly.

“Hum!” said Breede, and pretended to search for a missing document.  Then he eyed Bean again.

“Know how much you made on that Federal stuff?”

“I was going to ask a lawyer,” confessed Bean.  “I got a whole lot of margins or whatever you call ’em around at that broker’s.  Maybe he wouldn’t mind letting me know.”

“Stock’ll be up t’ six hundred before week’s out; net you ’round four hund’ thous’n’,” exploded Breede in his most vicious manner.

“Four hundred thousand margins?” He wanted to be cautious.

“Dollars, dammit!” shouted Breede.

Bean was able to remain cool.  That amount of money would have meant nothing to him back on the Nile.  Why should it now?

“It wasn’t the money I was after,” he began, loftily.

“Hanh!”

“Principle of the thing!” concluded Bean.

Breede had lost control of his capable under jaw.  It sagged limply.  At last he spoke, slowly and with awe in his tone.

“You don’t puzzle me any more.”  He shook his head solemnly.  “Not any more.  I know now!”

“Little old steamer—­can’t swim a stroke,” said Bean.

“’S all,” said Breede, still shaking his head helplessly.

At his desk outside Bean feigned to be absorbed in an intricate calculation.  In reality he was putting down “400,000,” then “$400,000,” then “$400,000.00” By noon he had covered several pages of his note-book with this instructive exercise.  Once he had written it $398,973.87, with a half-formed idea of showing it to old Metzeger.

As he was going out Tully trod lightly over a sheet of very thin ice and accosted him.

“The market was not discouraging to-day,” said Tully genially.

“’S good time to buy heavily in margins,” said Bean.

“Yes, sir,” said Tully respectfully.