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Of a rumour that the C. & G.W. would build into certain coveted territory Breede exploded: "I can imagine nothing of less consequence!" Bean rather liked the phrase and the way Breede emitted it. That was a good thing to say to some one who might think you were afraid. He treasured the words; fondled them with the point of his pencil.
He says if we don't beat it out of here by the next boat he can imagine nothing of less something or other I can't hear " " consequence," snapped Breede. "Yes, that's it; and now he's laughing and telling her she's a perfectly flapper." "Oh, my poor child," murmured the mother. "Puzzle t' me," said Breede. "I swear I can't make out just how many kinds of a "
Pandemonium truly reigned and the scene was unquestionably one of indescribable confusion. Outside the gate they were again Breede and Bean; or, rather, Bean and Breede. The latter could not so quickly forget that public recognition by the Greatest Pitcher. "You're a puzzle t'me," said Breede. "Lord! I can't g'ome yet. Have't take me club."
"Now she's told her mother," he muttered. "My God!" The transmitter was an excellent one, and Bean caught notes of hysteria. Julia was fussing back there. "Now, now!" urged Breede. "No good. Better lie down. She says she's got it all reasoned out, don't I tell you?" He put a throttling hand over the anguished voice, and looked dumbly at Bean. He noted the evil sneer and traced it to the cuffs.
"With 'creased freight earnin's these 'provements may be 'spected t' pay f'r 'emselves," continued Breede. "And I don't say I wouldn't do the same thing over again," Bean slipped in skilfully. He winced to think he might some day have a daughter of his own that would "carry on" just so with young men who would be all right if they were only let alone.
Wha's 'at?" exploded Breede. "Fumed eggs," said Bean, feeling witty. He affected to laugh at his own jest as he perceived that the mourning mother had entered the room. Breede drew cautiously away from him. Mrs. Breede nodded to him bravely. He mentioned the name of the world's greatest pitcher, with an impulse to take the woman down a bit.
"They come back when they learn to play ball above the ears," retorted Bean with crisp sapience. "How about old Cy Young? How about old Callahan of the Sox? How about Wagner out there think he's only nineteen hey? Tell me that!" He looked pityingly at the man of millions thus silenced. Two men scored from third and second, thanks to a wild throw. "Inside play, there?" said Breede.
Breede seemed to be impressed by the exhibit. "Well," he began, awkwardly, as a man knowing himself in the wrong but still defiant, "I won't do it. That's all! Not for anybody." Still, he seemed to consider that something more than mere apparent perverseness would become him. "They get down 'round m' hands all the time. Can't think when they get down that way. Bother me. Take m' mind off.
Couldn't make out how many kinds of perfectly swear-word fool he was? He regretted that he had not been more emphatic about those cuffs. And Breede had said it after witnessing that salute from the pitcher's box! He must be a hard man to convince of anything. What more proof did he want? Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! The man who couldn't make him out was calling for him.
"There's his foxy Rebates going to the arms of his family," said Bulger, disrespectfully applying to Breede a term that had more than once made him interesting to the Interstate Commerce Commission. "See the three skirts in the back? That's the Missis and the two squabs. Young one's only a flapper, but the old one's a peacherine for looks. Go on, lamp her once!"
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