THE FIGHTING SHEPHERDESS
imparted the information in a voice lowered to a confidential pitch — he had it from a reliable source that the bank itself had been caught in a pinch and had been obliged to transfer its stock to a depositor to save itself.
Toomey expatiated upon the merits of the proposition and the subsequent opportunities if it went through, until a feverish spot burned on either cheek-bone. And the burden of his refrain was that never since Noah came out of the ark, "the sole survivor," and all the world his oyster, as it were, had there been such a chance to "glom" everything in sight for a song.
If Prentiss's eyes twinkled occasionally, Toomey was too intent upon presenting his case in the strongest possible light to notice it; nor did he desist until Prentiss displayed signs of restlessness. Then, not to crowd his luck, he let the subject drop and sought to entertain him with a running fire of humorous comments upon the passersby.
Toomey excelled at this, forgetting, as is frequently the case, that no one of those whom he lampooned was as fitting a subject for ridicule as himself.
During a pause he observed:
"By the way, there's a woman of your name living about here."
"So I've heard."
"No connection, of course — different spelling, but not apt to be in any case." There was a covert sneer in his voice.
"How's that?" casually.
"She —" with a shrug — "well, she isn't up to much."
Prentiss stirred slightly.
"No?"
Toomey detected interest and lowered his voice.
"In fact, she's no good."
348
