You might see a difference if they didn't pull in the same line."
Mrs. Sampson considered a moment, and then rose, bringing out a
decanter of sherry with a supply of glasses and of biscuit from a
convenient closet in the bottom of a secretary.
"That's business," Snaffle said, joyously. "Sherry ain't much for a man
of my size, but it's better than nothing."
"It is a hint though," the hostess said, filling his glass.
"A hint!" he repeated.
"Yes; a hint that it is getting late, and that I am tired, and you must
go home."
"Oh, ho!" he laughed uproariously; "now I won't let you in for that
good thing on the Princeton Platinum stock. You'll wish you hadn't
turned me out of the house when you see that stock quoted at fifty per
cent above par."
"Ah, I know all about Princeton Platinum," she responded, showing her
white teeth rather more than was absolutely demanded by the occasion;
"besides, I've no money to put into anything."
"What about Princeton Platinum?" Greenfield asked, turning toward the
other a shrewd glance. "I've heard a good deal of talk about it lately,
but I didn't pay much attention to it."
"Princeton Platinum," the hostess put in before Snaffle could speak,
"is Mr. Snaffle's latest fairy story. It is a dream that people buy
pieces of for good hard samoleons, and"--
"Good _what?_" interrupted the country member.
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