fancy wives an' such. I know th' kind well; not wan cud do a
day's bakin' or windy-washin'!"

He held the noisy sheet before Bean and accusingly pointed a blunt
forefinger. "Burly Blonde Divorcee, Routed Society Burglar," across the
first two columns, but the proceeding was rather tamely typed and the
Burly Blonde's portrait in evening dress was inconspicuous beside the
headlines "Flurry in Federal Express! Wild Scenes on Stock Exchange.
Millions made by Gentlemen's Agreement."

"Gentlemin!" hissed Cassidy. "The sem agreemint that two gentlemin
porch-climbers has whin wan climbs whilst th' other watches t' see is
th' cop at th' upper ind av th' beat! Millions med whilst I'm wur-r-kin'
f'r twinty per month an' what's slipped me--th' sem not buyin' manny
jools ner private steamboats! Millions med! I know th' kind well!" Bean
felt his own indignation rise with Cassidy's. He was seeing why they had
feared to have him on the board of directors. Apparently they were bent
on wrecking the company by a campaign of extravagance. The substance of
what he gleaned from Cassidy's newspaper was that those directors had
declared a stock dividend of 200 per cent. and a cash dividend of 100
per cent.

They were madly wrecking the company in which he had invested his
savings. Such was his first thought. And they were crooks, as Cassidy
said, because for two years they had been quietly, through discreet
agents, buying in the stock from unsuspecting holders.

"Rascals," agreed Bean with Cassidy, leaving but slight gifts for
character analysis.

"Tellin' th' poor dubs th' stock was goin' down with one hand an' buyin'
it in with th' other," said the janitor, lucidly.

Bean was suddenly troubled by a cross-current of thought. When you
wrecked a company you didn't buy in the stock--you _sold_. He viewed the
headlines from a new angle. Those directors were undoubtedly rascals,
but was he not a rascal himself? What about his own shares?

"Maybe there's something we don't understand about it," he ventured to
Cassidy.

"I know th' kind well," persisted Cassidy. "Th' idle rich! Small use
have they f'r th' wur-r-r-kin' man! Souls no wider than th' black av y'r
nail!"

"Might have had good reasons," said Bean, cautiously.

"Millions av thim," assented Cassidy with a pointed cynicism. "An' me
own father dyin' twinty-three years ago fr'm ixposure contracted in
County Mayo!"

Bean returned the paper to its owner and went slowly in to Ram-t