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He would continue in the unexciting express business for a while, until he had amassed enough to buy the ball-team. Out at his typewriter, turning off Breede's letters, his mind kept reverting to those nicely printed stock certificates Aunt Clara had sent to him, five of them for ten shares each, his own name written on them.
He entered Breede's room with his accustomed air of quiet service. Breede did not glance at him. He began, as usual, to dictate before Bean was seated. "Letter T.J. Williams 'sistant sup'ntendent M.P. 'n' C. department C. 'n' L.M. rai'way Sh'-kawgo dear sir please note 'closed schej'l car 'pairin' make two copies send one don't take that an' let me have at y'r earles c'nvenience "
He would own one major-league team, at least; perhaps three or four. He would be known as the baseball king, and the world would forget his petty triumphs as a director of express. He deemed it significant that the present directors of that same Federal Express Company one day held a meeting in Breede's office. It showed, he thought, how life "worked around." The thing was coming to his very door.
He looked quietly confident and Breede glanced at him almost respectfully. "When?" he asked. "Haven't made up my mind yet," said Bean firmly. "I may consult her, then again I may not; don't believe in long engagements." Breede's glance this time was wholly respectful. "You're a puzzle to me," he conceded. Bean's shrug eloquently seemed to retort, "that's what they all say, sooner or later."
He listened another moment, then lessening his tone-production but losing nothing of intensity, he ripped out: "Gur reat Godfrey!" His eyes, narrowed as he listened, now widened upon Bean who stared determinedly at the cuffs. "You know what she says?" "Yes," said Bean doggedly. Then his eyes met Breede's and gave them blaze for blaze.
"All right," said the expert resignedly. "We'll do what we can. May take three or four days." Bean started for the door. "Say," called the expert, as if on second thought, "you're up at Breede's office, ain't you old J.B.'s?" "Oh, I'm there for a few days yet," said Bean. "Ah, ha!" said the expert. "Have a cigar!" Bean aimlessly accepted the proffer.
He looked with new interest on the street-cars full of office-bound people. They were meekly going to their tasks while he was affronting men with more millions than he had checks on the newest suit. As they left the city and came to outlying villages, he saw that he was going in the direction of Breede's place.
"Affectionately, "Aunt Clara. "P.S. It has rained hard for two days." There it was! Money came to you. Federal Express was only a name to him; he had written it sometimes at Breede's dictation.
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.
From Breede and his ignoble attire Bean shifted the disfavour of his glance to Breede's luncheon tray on the desk between them. Breede's unvarying luncheon consisted of four crackers composed of a substance that was said, on the outside of the package, to be "predigested," one apple, and a glass of milk moderately inflated with seltzer.
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