It might be worth his while to inquire the
price, for he had made money in transactions of that sort.
Returning to the bank, he found that the activity of the clerks and
typewriters did not jar on him as it had been doing of late. He paused
at Saunders's desk and made a cheerful and oddly self-confident
inquiry as to the disposition of a certain customer's account,
surprising his partner by his altered manner.
In his office, smoking a good cigar, he found a new interest in the
letters and documents left there for his consideration. After all,
life _was_ a game. Even the early red men had their sport. Modern
routine work without diversion was a treadmill, prisonlike existence.
Delbridge was the happy medium. The jovial speculator had never heard
of such a fine-spun thing as a conscience. What if Irene and Buckton
were having their fun; could he not also enjoy himself? If the worst
came, surely a man of the world, a stoical thoroughbred, who was
willing to give and take a matrimonial joke would appear less
ridiculous in the public eye than an overgrown crier over spilt milk.
How queer that he had waited for Marie Winship to open his eyes to
such a patent fact!
All the remainder of the day he was buoyed up by this impulse.
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