“Well, as long as you’re that confident,” said George Lockwood.
“Still the cynic, George. You miss a lot that way.”
“Yes, I know I do. Come on, let’s get over to Ray Turner’s solid mahogany bucket-shop. Maybe I ought to say old oaken bucket-shop.”
The brothers rose simultaneously. George Lockwood helped Pen-rose on with his coat and they proceeded to George’s office, where Penrose helped George. George then linked his arm in his brother’s, and they went out to the elevator together.
Ray Turner’s private office was neither mahogany nor oaken; it was in the newer fashion, knotty pine, and spacious enough for the caterer’s table and service wagon. “George, I don’t know when I saw you last. You don’t get down here often enough, but I’m very glad you came today.”
“Oh, I don’t belong down here. I’m just a hick from the country,” said George Lockwood.
“I hear you’re becoming a country squire,” said Ray Turner.
“Yes, I heard that, too,” said Charley Bohm. “The hick from the country is making more money than any of us. How did you finally come out on that carburetor deal, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Not at all,” said George Lockwood. “As the British say, we made a small packet. Pen will tell you.”
“We won the patent suit. You knew that,” said Penrose Lockwood.
“Yes. I saw that,” said Charley Bohm.
“Well, then we sold our interest to Carlton-MacLeod,” said Pen-rose Lockwood.
“Oh, they got it?” said Bohm.
“Yes, we got some common, some preferred—” said Penrose Lockwood.
“And some cash, I imagine,” said Bohm.
“Oh, always some cash,” said George Lockwood. “Always, always some cash.”
“Well, that’s the way I like to do business as a rule,” said Bohm. “I always like to see some cash in a transaction. You took the common instead of royalties, I imagine.”
“We sure did,” said Penrose Lockwood. “That’s one less step in the bookkeeping. Funny things happen to royalties sometimes, but when you own common stock you have a better idea of where you stand.”
“You do indeed,” said Bohm.
“Does anyone care for a cocktail?” said Ray Turner.
“Nope,” said Charley Bohm.
“No thanks,” said Penrose Lockwood.
“Well, I’ll have one, Ray. A Martini?” said George Lockwood.
“And I’ll have one with you,” said Ray Turner. “Stirred, or shaken?”
“Shaken vigorously is the way I like them,” said George Lockwood.
“So do I,” said Ray Turner. “Waiter, did you hear that?”
“Yes sir,” said the waiter, going to work.
“Then you can come back in about an hour,” said Turner. “We’ll serve ourselves from the wagon. We’re having lobster Newburg, gentlemen. Meet with your approval, George?”
“I’d be crazy if it didn’t,” said George Lockwood.
“Tell me about your new estate,” said Ray Turner.
“Well, I’ve got about three hundred acres, all told. We’re hoping to have some good shooting in a year or two.”
“Horses?” said Charley Bohm.
“No horses. My wife doesn’t ride and I don’t any more. It isn’t riding country.”
“No fox-hunting riding-to-hounds?” said Bohm.
“Not within fifty miles. It’s just a house on the hillside, woodland on three sides.”
“What kind of a house did you build, George? We’re thinking of either buying or building,” said Turner.
“Lockwood Colonial, I guess you’d call it,” said George Lockwood. “Red brick, two stories, an attic and a cellar. Doorway in the center. Very simple.”
“How many rooms in a house like that?” said Bohm.
“In ours, which is deceptively deep, eighteen. It looks smaller than that sounds. Then we have two apartments over the garage. We have a tennis court and a small swimming-pool, and later on a house where people can change their clothes and, in a pinch, spend the night. We don’t expect to do much entertaining.”
“Well, you’re all set,” said Turner.
“Yes, we have plenty of water. Some game. A few deer. Fruit trees. We could subsist there if we had to. I always said that if I ever built a house I’d like to feel that I could be like the first Lockwoods that came to this country.”
“When was that, George?” said Bohm.
“Well, our branch arrived here early in the Eighteenth Century. We believe he helped build the Conestoga wagon, and took a trip in one and settled in Central Pennsylvania. Am I correct, Brother Penrose?”
“Yes. He opened a store somewhere along the way.”
“And was killed by Indians. Or at least Indians were blamed. But now I’ve said enough. My brother cautioned me against talking too much.”
“Go on. This is interesting,” said Bohm. “Maybe not to Ray, but to me. My name was originally B, o, e, h, m. Pennsylvania name.”
“Of course it is,” said George Lockwood.
“I had an ancestor that was—I think he was governor of Pennsylvania. But then he got into some kind of trouble and went out West. He may not have been governor, but I know he was from Pennsylvania. We’re all from Indiana and Illinois, my father and mother’s people. But even so you could call this an all-Pennsylvania party. Shall we have another snort on that, George?”
“No thank you, Ray, but you go ahead.”
“I never get the full taste of a Martini till I’ve had two. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Dig right in, and I’ll be with you in two gulps.” Turner drank two more cocktails, then finished his lobster Newburg ahead of his guests. No one wanted dessert, and they left the table and had coffee while seated around Turner’s desk.
“Before you start, Ray. I’ll be very polite and offer to leave if this is at all confidential,” said George Lockwood.
“It’s God damn confidential, George. But I don’t want you to leave,” said Turner. “This is something that Charley and I’ve been approached about. As you know, Charley and I aren’t partners, but we occasionally go in on things together, so a lot of people have got to thinking we are partners.”
“I don’t have a nickel in Ray’s firm, and he doesn’t have a nickel in mine.”
“Right. Neither firm is in on this thing, you understand, gentlemen?”
“Right,” said Penrose Lockwood.
“Okay. Well now this is something that we heard about through a customer of Charley’s firm out in Ohio. Charley’s firm has a branch in Cleveland and one of his customers, not a big one but an old one, asked Charley if he ever put any money in a small business just starting out.”
“Our customer is an elderly gentleman, living retired in a little town in Ohio. A country lawyer. Very highly thought of in his community, and through him we got several new customers. So I listened to what he had to say, that this friend of his wanted to start up a business, and then he handed me this. One of these.” Charley Bohm took a cardboard box off Turner’s desk, opened it, and extracted an object wrapped in heavy tinfoil. He handed it to Penrose Lockwood; took a similar object from the box and handed it to George Lockwood. “Go ahead. Open them up.”
The Lockwoods removed the tinfoil. “It looks like a piece of candy,” said Penrose Lockwood.
“It is. Take a bite out of it,” said Bohm.
The Lockwoods ate the candy, nodding as they chewed. “Damn good,” said George Lockwood. “I’m glad I didn’t have any dessert.”
“I never eat candy, but this is good,” said Penrose Lockwood.