"Yes. Buy a newspaper, and employ Salmon there. He's a most expensive luxury," said Doane.
"What reason have you for always jumping on me?" said Salmon. "Did I not safely escort you through seven libel suits last year?"
"Yes, and how much of our stock do you now hold in the way of fee?"
"Let's cease this merriment," said Wayland, in either real or assumed sadness. "I am in mourning. The City of Hamburg has just arrived, and brings the news that 'La Petite Goldie' died at sea, and was buried beneath the cruel waves of the unfeeling Atlantic."
"Another $50,000 you will have to credit to profit and loss," said Doane.
"Was that another of Gould's operative speculations?" asked Salmon.
"Yes, gentlemen, she was, and truly I am awfully cut up over the matter. I liked the girl very much, and besides, she had great talent."
"She died of what ailment?" queried the lawyer.
"That's the puzzling thing," said the broker. "Some dreadful, mysterious ailment, the germs of which floated up from the steerage. The confounded steamer should have been quarantined. The first thing we know New York will be scourged."
"A few thousand useless cattle will be killed off," said Doane. "A good thing."
"It might lay its heavy hand on you," said Salmon.
"No," replied Doane, "I am too wicked to die. Satan would refuse me entrance to hell for fear I'd rival him for his kingdom."
"Anyhow," said Wayland, "I intend to wear crape for a year."
