Barney at right angles to him. “And cream. Plenty of it. I don’t care what it costs. And here. Wait a minute. I don’t want my bacon fried to a cinder, either.”
He was talking in an insistent, querulous grumble. The waiter kept saying “No, sir. Yes, sir,” with a sort of cool servility that was professional to the point of contempt. Barney glanced at Mr. Sullivan. He was sipping his coffee, with his head turned slightly. Barney could see that he was “getting an ear full.” The waiter departed.
“Well,” Babbing asked, “did you get them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did they say?”
“They said they ’d call you up.”
“Well, they ’d better hurry,” he blustered. “If they don’t want my money, I can find lots of people in this town that do. Did they say they had those Bonanza shares for me?”
“They did n’t say.”
