Bean resumed his work, with the air of one forgetting a past annoyance.  But he was not forgetting.  He might let them have the stock; he had never thought any too well of that express directorship; but let them send some one that could talk straight.  He didn’t care if he had been short with Tully.  He was going to lose his job anyway, the day after that wedding, if not before.

He wrote many of Breede’s letters, and was again interrupted, this time by Markham, Breede’s confidential secretary.  Markham’s approach to Bean was emphatically footed, as that of a man unable to imagine ice being thin under his feet.  He was bluff and open, where Tully lurked behind his “not impossibles.”  He was even jovial now.  He smiled down at Bean.

“By the way, Bean, some one was telling me you have some Federal Express.”

“Have the shares right there in my desk,” admitted Bean, wonderingly.  He was suspicious all at once.  Tully and Markham had both opened on him with “By the way.”  He had always felt it a shrewd thing to suspect people who began with “By the way.”

“Ah, yes, fifty shares, I believe.”  Markham smiled again, but seemed to try not to smile.  He apparently considered it a rare jest that Bean should own any shares of anything; a thing for smiles even though one must humour the fellow.

“Fifty shares!  Well, well, that’s good!  Now the fact is, old man, I can place those for you this afternoon.  Some of the Federal people going to meet informally here, and they happen to want a little block or two of the stuff, for voting purposes, you know.  Not that it’s worth anything.  How’d you happen to get down on such a dead one?”

“Well, you know, I had a sort of a plan about that stock.  I don’t know—­”

“Of course I can’t get you what you paid for it,” continued the affable Markham, “because it’s poor stuff, but maybe they’ll stand a point or two above to-day’s quotations.  Just let me have them and I’ll get your check made out right away; you can go out of here with more money to-night than any one else will.”  Markham was prattling on amiably, still trying not to be overcome by the funny joke of Bean owning things.

“I don’t want to sell,” declared Bean.  There had been a moment’s hesitation, but that opening, “By the way,” of Markham’s had finally decided him.  You couldn’t tell anything about such a man.

“Oh, come now, old chap,” cajoled Markham, “Be a good fellow.  It’s only needed for a technical purpose, you know.”

“I guess I’ll hold on to it,” said Bean.  “I’ve been thinking for a long time—­”

“Last quarter’s dividend was 3 per cent.,” reminded Markham.

“I know,” admitted Bean, “and that’s just why.  You see I’ve got an idea—­”

“As a matter of fact, I think J.B. doesn’t exactly approve of his people here in the office speculating.  He doesn’t consider it ... well, you know one of you chaps here, if you weren’t all loyal, might very often take advantage—­you get my point?”