" And somehow the great financier's faculty for the glib
manipulation of platitudes which has earned him a reputation as a powerful
economist seems for the moment to have abandoned him. His eyes remind one
of a boy standing on tiptoe and staring over a fence at a baseball game.
* * * * *
The conversation finally begins. It runs something like this. It is the
great financier talking. "Europe. Oh, yes. Quite a mess. Things will pick
up, however." A long pause. The umbrellas bob along. One, two, three,
four, five--the financier counts up to thirty. Then he rubs his hands
together as if he were taking charge of a situation freshly arisen at a
board of directors' meeting and says in a jovial voice: "Where were we?
Oh, yes. The European situation. Well, now, what do you want to know in
particular?"
Ah, this great financier has columns of figures, columns of reports and
columns of phrases in his head. Press a button and they will pop out.
"Have a cigar?" the financier asks. Cigars are lighted. "A rotten day," he
says. "Doesn't look as if it will clear up, either, does it?" Then he
says, "I guess this is an off day for me. No energy at all. I swear I
can't think of a thing to tell you about the European situation.
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