"So you won't sell wheat and you won't buy wheat, Mr. American!" he
jeered. "I know what you would like to buy, though--and, damn it all,
there's old Dreadnought Phipps down there--he's a bidder, too--ain't you,
Phipps, old boy? What you see in her, either of you, I don't know! She's
no use to me."
Phipps rose in his place. Sir Frederick Houstley left his chair and came
round to Dredlinton.
"Lord Dredlinton," he said, "I think you had better leave."
"I'll leave when I damned well please!" was the quick reply. "Don't you
lose your wool, old Freddy. This is going to be a joke. You listen. I
tell you what I'll do. I'm a poor man--devilish poor--and it takes a lot
of money to enjoy oneself, nowadays. You're all in this. Sit tight and
listen. We'll have an auction."
Wingate rose slowly to his feet, pushed his chair back and stood behind
it. Flossie gripped him by the wrist.
"Don't take any notice of him, please, Mr. Wingate," she implored, in an
agonised whisper. "For my sake, don't! He's dangerous when he's like
this. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."
"Look here, Dredlinton," Sir Frederick expostulated, "you are spoiling my
party. You don't want to quarrel with me, do you?"
"Quarrel with you, Freddy?" Dredlinton replied, patting him on the back
affectionately. "Not I! I'm too fond of you, old dear.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87