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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Profiteers"

"
"It's making us damned unpopular," Dredlinton grumbled.
"For the moment," the other agreed, "but remember this. There was never
such a thing as an unpopular millionaire known in history, so long as he
chose to spend his money."
Dredlinton drew a letter from his pocket and handed it across the table.
"Read that," he invited. "It's the fifth I've had within the last
two days."
Phipps glanced at the beginning and the end, and threw it
carelessly back.
"Pooh! A threatening letter!" he exclaimed. "Why, I had a dozen of those
this morning. My secretary is making a scrapbook of them."
"That one of mine seems pretty definite, doesn't it?" Dredlinton remarked
nervously.
"Some of mine were uncommonly plain-spoken," Phipps acknowledged, "but
what's the odds? You're not a coward, Dredlinton; neither am I. Neither
is Skinflint Martin, nor Stanley. Chuck letters like that on the fire, as
they have, and keep cheerful. The streets of London are the safest place
in the world. No cable from your friend in New York yet?"
"Not a word," Dredlinton answered. "I expected it last night. You haven't
forgotten that Wingate's due here this morning--that is, if he keeps his
appointment?"
"Forgotten it? Not likely!" Phipps replied. "I was going to talk to you
about that. We must have those shares. The fact of it is the Universal
Line has played us false, the only shipping company which has.


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