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

"The Profiteers"

"
Phipps remained perfectly silent for several moments.
"Wingate, you are a hard enemy," he said at last. "Will you treat?"
"I have named the price."
"You are a fool!" Phipps almost shouted. "Do you know," he went on,
striking the table with his clenched fist, "that what you suggest would
cost five million pounds?"
"You and your friends can stand it," was the unruffled reply. "If not,
your brokers can share the loss."
"That means you make a bankrupt of me?" Phipps demanded hoarsely.
"Why not?" Wingate replied. "It's been a long duel between us, Phipps,
and I mean this to be the final bout."
Phipps moved his position a little uneasily. He was keeping himself under
control, but the veins were standing out upon his forehead, his frame
seemed tense with passion.
"Tell me, Wingate, is it still the girl?"
Wingate looked across at him. His face and tone were alike relentless,
his eyes shone like points of steel.
"You did ill to remind me of that, Phipps," he said. "However, I will
answer your question. It is still the girl."
"She was nothing to you," Phipps muttered sullenly.
"One can't make your class of reptile understand these things," Wingate
declared scornfully. "She came to me in New York with a letter from her
father, my old tutor, who had died out in the Adirondacks without a
shilling in the world.


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