It might even disastrously affect the market as a whole."
"Oh, come!" Rand reproved. "That's like talking about starting a
hurricane with a palm-leaf fan."
"But you will admit that it would have a dreadful effect on Premix
Foods," Goode argued. "It would probably prevent this merger from being
consummated. Look here," he said urgently. "I don't know how much Gladys
Fleming is paying you to rake all this up, but I'll gladly double her fee
if you drop it and confine yourself to the matter of the collection."
Even in his colossal avarice, that was one kind of money Jeff Rand had
never been tempted to take. An offer of that sort invariably made him
furious. At the moment, he managed to choke down his anger, but he
rejected Goode's offer in a manner which left no room for further
discussion. Goode rose, shaking his head sadly.
"I suppose you realize," he said, sorrowfully, "that you're wrecking
a ten-million-dollar corporation. One in which you, yourself, are a
stockholder."
Rand brightened. "And the biggest wrecking jobs I ever did before were a
couple of petrol dumps and a railroad bridge." He got to his feet along
with the lawyer. "No need to call the butler; I'll let you out myself."
He accompanied Goode down the front stairway to the door.
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