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Updated: May 13, 2025
Fopling was emphatic he squeaked. Mr. Fopling's father had been a beef contractor. Likewise he had seen trouble with investigating committees, being convicted of bad beef. This may or may not have had to do with the younger Fopling's aversion to the press. "Certainly," coincided Bess, again assuming the maternal, "the newspapers are exceedingly inflammatory."
Fopling's weakness was not of the legs he being a very Mercury, with feet as fleet as his wits were slow Dorothy and Bess had no more than finished giving and receiving congratulations, i. e., kisses, when Richard appeared and took Bess's labor of congratulation off her hands or should one say her lips?
Fopling's; he could not decide just how to lay hold on the sibyl of the golden locks. Perceiving him wandering in his wits, Dorothy took him up warmly. "Can't you see Bess is laughing at you?" she cried. "You know her so much better than I," argued Richard, in extenuation of his dullness. "Some day I hope to be so well acquainted with Miss Marklin as to know when she laughs."
Being decided as to a path, Richard inclosed those dangerous shares with a typewritten note to Mr. Harley. The note, speaking in the third person, presented Mr. Fopling's compliments, explained that Mr. Fopling was given to understand that Mr. Harley would purchase those particular shares, stated their value as fifteen thousand dollars, and said that Mr. Harley might send his check to Mr. Fopling.
Harley without being known in the business. Would Mr. Fopling permit him the favor of his name? He would employ Mr. Fopling's name most guardedly. Richard did not tell Mr. Fopling that his sacred name was already in the harness of the affair. The benumbed Mr.
Bayard, as well as every share of Northern Consolidated delivered to perfect those sales that had brought him down in ruin in short, if he had been told the whole romance, from Mr. Fopling's exhortation to "Bweak him!" to the close of the market on that crashing Friday afternoon, he might have been less sure of recapturing those French shares.
Fopling's ears pricked up a flicker of interest and he betrayed symptoms of being about to speak. "Stow-wy!" exclaimed Mr. Fopling thoughtfully, as though identifying that nobleman, while Bess and Richard looked on as do folk who behold a miracle, "Stow-wy! I say, Stawms, why don't you go into Wall Stweet and bweak the beggah? He's always gambling, don't y' know!
Bess reported Dorothy's spirits as improved; those rays of comfort emanating from Richard's promises had put a color in her cheek. "The promises have been redeemed," observed Richard, "and I came to tell you first of all you who have been our truest friend," and here, to the utter outrage of Mr. Fopling's sensibilities, Richard kissed Bess's yellow hair. "Oh, I say, Stawms!" squeaked Mr.
Bweak him; that's the way to punish such a fellah." "Why! what a malicious soul you have grown!" cried Bess in astonishment. "Really, Algy," Mr. Fopling's name was Algernon, "if you burst on us in this guise often, I for one shall stand in terror of you!" "But, weally," protested Mr. Fopling, "if you want to get even with a fellah, Bess, just bweak him!
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