rdking.net

It has not been easy for him. It has not been without inuendo and incident, without small distractions. Each day he must see his way clearly to profitable manipulation of properties and stock. The necessity of arrangements, of agreements, of luncheons, of clients who only need to talk, all have their sums—their depressable key as a means to their drawer. So it troubles him. Sometimes it incenses him. It supports the cognac that settles his coffee.

But he's settling all of his regional accounts with a terse, yet lenient smile—and on no account of mine I can assure you, even his Boston affair. Since his salutary allowance was granted by the board I hear nothing of mergers or new negotiations. Although, his eyes have the strangest tale in them now:   a warm night on a Mexican plain. They have a salient reflection:   his horse has thrown a shoe so he walks into this squat, clay town. And his cheeks are more full, hard but not rosey:   he buys a drink and a girl for the price of his hat. And even as she leads him down some stump of a hall to the room where her brothers wait, he still has the same enigmatic twitch that I would fall for again.

His back arched; the muscles rising in his neck.