“Mr. Pulcifer,” he said, “I—­if you are not too greatly occupied I should like to ask—­ah—­a business question.  Ah—­may I?”

He most assuredly could.  In fact, he was urged to ask it then and there.

“Never too busy to talk business, a feller usually ain’t; eh, Perfessor?  Haw, haw!  I’d say he wan’t, eh?  Set down, set down and ease your mind.  What’s the business question?  Let ’er go.”

Mr. Bangs let her go to the extent of stammering a request to be given his companion’s candid opinion concerning the shares of the Wellmouth Development Company.  He was—­ah—­somewhat interested in them, so he said.

Raish leaned back in his chair and scrutinized the questioner.  He shot at least five deep-drawn puffs of smoke into the already murky air of the little office before replying.

“Humph!” he grunted, after the fifth puff.  “Wellmouth Development Company, eh?  You’re interested in that, are you?”

“Why—­ah—­yes, yes.  To a certain extent, yes, Mr. Pulcifer.”

“Humph!  What d’you mean, interested?  How interested?”

“Why, as—­ah—­as an investment, you know.  As something to put one’s money into.”

“Humph!  Was you thinkin’ of puttin’ some of yours into it?”

“Why, not exactly.  But, you see, a friend of mine—­ But, really, I think I shouldn’t give any further particulars at the present time.  You’ll excuse me under the circumstances, Mr. Pulcifer, I’m sure.  Dear me, I hope you will.”

He was forgiven.  Mr. Pulcifer assured him to that effect.  But Raish was still uncertain just how to proceed.  He continued to puff and scrutinize.

“What I wish to know,” continued his caller, after another moment’s interval, “is—­well, in short, I should like to know your opinion of Wellmouth Development shares as an investment security.”

“Um—­ye-es.  Well, you said that before.”

“Did I?  Dear me, I believe I did.  Well, then, suppose, just suppose that I actually did wish to buy some of those shares.  Would you consider it a good thing for me to do?”

Here at last was something tangible—­and promising.  Mr. Pulcifer’s puffy lids drew nearer together to hide the gleam behind them.  He took the cigar from his mouth and held it between the fingers of his right hand.  During his next speech he gesticulated with it.

“Would I consid—­” he began, and then paused, apparently overcome by his feelings.  The pause was not long, however.  “Would I consider Wellmouth Development a good thing for you to put your money in?  Would I?”

“Ah—­yes.  Would you?”

“Say, Perfessor, you listen to me. I know all about Wellmouth Development.  You’ve come to the right place.  You listen.”

Galusha listened, listened for a long time.  The red of the Pulcifer cigar tip died out and that of the Pulcifer face brightened.

“And so I say,” vowed Raish, in conclusion, “with all that property behind it and all that future ahead of it, if Development ain’t a good investment, what is?”