And with easy money comin' in fresh and fresh every quarter,
without havin' to turn a hand to get it, you'd 'most think he could
take life cheerful. He don't, though. Hardly anything suits him. He
develops into the club grouch, starin' slit-eyed at new members, and
cultivatin' the stony glare for the world in general.
And then, all of a sudden, his income dries up. Stops absolutely.
Something about not bein' able to ship any more phosphate to Germany.
Anyway, the quarterly stuff is all off. I'd heard him takin' on about
it to Mr. Robert--cussin' out the State Department, the Kaiser, the
Allies, anybody he could think of to lay the blame to. Why didn't
someone do something? It was a blessed outrage. What was one to do?
Ham's next idea seems to be who was one to do; and Mr. Robert, being
handy, was tagged. First off it was a loan; a good-sized one; then a
note or so, and finally he gets down to a plain touch now and then,
when Mr. Robert couldn't dodge.
But for a month or more, until this S. O. S. call comes in, he don't
show up at all. So I'm some curious myself to know just what's struck
him. I must say, though, that for a party who's been crossed off the
dividend list for more'n a year, he's chuckin' a good bluff.
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