and he
couldn't swim a stroke and was always terrified by water. And the trip
West with the home team! What about that? Why had he not the presence of
mind to cut in and just perfectly tell her where they were going? But
he had let the moment pass. It was too late. He didn't want to begin by
making a row. And Breede was puzzled by him _that_ way, was he? Couldn't
make out how many kinds of perfectly swear-word fool he was?

He regretted that he had not been more emphatic about those cuffs. And
Breede had said it after witnessing that salute from the pitcher's box!
He must be a hard man to convince of anything. What more proof did he
want?

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

The man who couldn't make him out was calling for him. For an hour
longer he took down the man's words, not sneering pointedly at the
cuffs, yet allowing it to be seen that he was conscious of them. A
puzzle was he?

"--Hopin' t'ave promp' action accordin' 'bove 'structions, remain yours
ver' truly she's got it all reasoned out," concluded Breede.

"She just told me," said Bean; "little old steamer sailing Wednesday."

"Can't make y' out," said Breede.

That thing was getting tiresome.

"You're a puzzle to me, too," said Bean.

"Hanh! Wha's 'at? What kinda puzzle?"

"Same kind," said Bean, brightly.

"Hum!" said Breede, and pretended to search for a missing document. Then
he eyed Bean again.

"Know how much you made on that Federal stuff?"

"I was going to ask a lawyer," confessed Bean. "I got a whole lot of
margins or whatever you call 'em around at that broker's. Maybe he
wouldn't mind letting me know."

"Stock'll be up t' six hundred before week's out; net you 'round four
hund' thous'n'," exploded Breede in his most vicious manner.

"Four hundred thousand margins?" He wanted to be cautious.

"_Dollars_, dammit!" shouted Breede.

Bean was able to remain cool. That amount of money would have meant
nothing to him back on the Nile. Why should it now?

"It wasn't the money I was after," he began, loftily.

"_Hanh!_"

"Principle of the thing!" concluded Bean.

Breede had lost control of his capable under jaw. It sagged limply. At
last he spoke, slowly and with awe in his tone.

"You don't puzzle me any more." He shook his head solemnly. "Not any
more. I _know_ now!"

"Little old steamer--can't swim a stroke," said Bean.

"'S all," said Breede, still shaking his head helplessly.

At his desk outside Bean feigned to be absorbed in an intr