“Hadjer lunch?”

“No!” said Bean, murderously.

“Gitcha some quick.  Hurry!”

He knew the worst now.  The afternoon was gone.

“Don’t want any!” It was a miniature explosion after the Breede manner.

“C’mon, then!”

He was at the desk and Breede dictated interminably.  When pauses came he wrote scathing comments on Breede’s attire, his parsimony in the matter of food, his facial defects, and some objectionable characteristics as a human being, now perceived for the first time.  He grew careless of concealing his attitude.  Once he stared at Breede’s detached cuffs with a scorn so malevolent that Breede turned them about on the desk to examine them himself.  Bean went white, feeling “ready for anything!” but Breede merely continued his babble about “Federal Express” stock, and “first mortgage refunding 4 per cent. gold bonds,” and multifarious other imbecilities that now filled a darkened world.

He jealously watched the letters Breede answered and laid aside, and the sheaf of reports that he juggled from hand to hand.  His hope had been that the session might be brief.  There was no clock in the room and he several times felt for the absent watch.  Then he tried to estimate the time.  When he believed it to be one o’clock he diversified his notes with a swift summary of Breede’s character which only the man’s bitterest enemies would have approved.  At what he thought was two o’clock he stripped him of the last shreds of moral decency.  When three o’clock seemed to arrive he did not dare put down, even in secretive shorthand, what he felt could justly be said of Breede.  After that it was no good hoping.  He relaxed into the dullness of a big despair, merely reflecting that Bulger’s picture of Breede under his heel had been too mushily humane.  What Bean wished at the moment was to have Breede tied to a stake, and to be carving choice morsels from him with a dull knife.  He made the picture vivacious.

At what he judged to be four-thirty a spirited rap sounded on the door.

“C’min,” yelled Breede.

Entered the flapper.  Breede looked up.

“Seddown!  View of efforts bein’ made b’ cert’n parties t’ s’cure ’trol of comp’ny by promise of creatin’ stock script on div’dend basis, it is proper f’r d’rectors t’ state policy has been—­”

The flapper had sat down and was looking intently at Bean.  There was no coquetry in the look.  It was a look of interest and one wholly in earnest.  Bean became aware of it at Breede’s first pause.  At any other time he would have lowered his eyes before an assault so direct and continuous.  Now in his hot rage he included the flapper in the glare he put upon her unconscious father.