“Eh?  Why, no, Mr. Pulcifer, I haven’t—­ah—­turned them over to any one else.”

“Good!  Fust-rate!  Fine and dandy!  You and me can trade yet.  You’re all right, Perfessor, you are.  You’ve kind of put one acrost on me, but don’t make the mistake of thinkin’ I’m holdin’ that against you.  No, sir-ee!  When a feller’s smart enough to keep even with your Uncle Raish in a deal then I know he gets up early—­yes, sir, early, and that’s when I get up myself.  Hey, Perfessor?  Haw, haw!  Now, I tell you:  Let’s you and me go down to my office or somewheres where we can talk business.  Maybe I might want to buy that stock yet, you can’t tell.  Hey?  Haw, haw!”

He was exuding geniality now.  But just here Mr. Augustus Cabot spoke.  Judging by his face, he had enjoyed the passage at arms between his cousin and his business agent hugely.  Now he entered the lists.

“That’s all right, Pulcifer,” he said.  “You needn’t trouble.  I’ll look out for that stock, myself.”

Horatio turned and stared.  He had scarcely noticed the visitor before, now he looked him over from head to foot.

“Hey?  What’s that?” he demanded.  Cabot repeated his statement.  Raish snorted.

“You’ll look after the stock!” he repeated.  “You will?  Who are you?”

Cousin Gussie tossed a card across the table.  “Cabot is my name,” he said.

Galusha suddenly remembered.

“Oh, dear me!” he exclaimed.  “I—­I forgot.  Please forgive me.  Cousin Gussie, this is Mr. Pulcifer.  Mr. Pulcifer, this gentleman is my—­ah—­Cousin Gu—­I mean my cousin, Mr. Cabot, from Boston.”

But Mr. Pulcifer did not hear.  He was staring at the names of the individual and of the firm upon the card and icy fingers were playing tunes up and down his vertebrae.  For the second time that morning he could not speak.  Cabot laughed.

“It’s all right, Pulcifer,” he said, reassuringly.  “You won’t have to worry about the Development matter any longer.  I’ll handle the rest of it.  Oh, you did your best.  I’m not blaming you.  I’ll see that you get a fair return, even if you couldn’t quite deliver.  But you must keep still about the whole thing, of course.”

Raish breathed heavily.  Slowly the icy fingers ceased trifling with his spine and that backbone began to develop—­quoting Miss Phipps’ description—­at least one new joint to every foot.  He suppled visibly.  He expressed himself with feeling.  He begged the honor of shaking hands with the great man from Boston.  Then he shook hands with Galusha and Miss Phipps.  If Primmie had been present doubtless he would have shaken hands with her.  When Cabot suggested that the interview had best terminate, he agreed with unction and oozed, rather than walked, through that doorway.  Watching from the window, they saw him stop when he reached the road, draw a long breath, take a cigar from his pocket, light it, hitch his cap a trifle to one side, and stride away, a moving picture of still unshaken and serene self-confidence.