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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Yes, sir!" said Tully, again distinctly. Bean controlled himself and went to his desk. "'Mr. and 'Sir'! Gee! Am I as rich as that??" he thought. Half an hour later it no longer seemed to him that he was rich at all. He was seated opposite Breede taking letters in shorthand as if he were merely a thirty-dollar-a-week Bunker Bean. Breede was refusing to recognize any change in their relationship.
You interfere with me you strike me you that I took out of a thirty-dollar-a-week job and made you all you are. I did it, Dave; gave you the money to start with, coached you all the way. And you hit me . . . when I wasn't looking." He spoke disjointedly; his throat was choked with mortification and self-pity. "Very well. I know the stake you're playing for. And I'm going to spoil it."
Sometimes I think the more you get the more you want. Somebody ought to turn that vice inquiry on to the tracks of that thirty-dollar-a-week girl in the Irish crochet waist and the diamond bar pin. She'd make swell readin'." There fell a little silence between the two a silence of which neither was conscious.
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