It was his salutary custom to buttonhole a
director afterwards, and ask him whether he thought the coming year
would be good or bad; and, according to the trend of the answer, to buy
or sell three shares within the ensuing fortnight.
And there was that military man, Major O'Bally, who could not help
speaking, if only to second the re-election of the auditor, and who
sometimes caused serious consternation by taking toasts--proposals
rather--out of the hands of persons who had been flattered with little
slips of paper, entrusting the said proposals to their care.
These made up the lot, together with four or five strong, silent
shareholders, with whom Soames could sympathize--men of business, who
liked to keep an eye on their affairs for themselves, without being
fussy--good, solid men, who came to the City every day and went back in
the evening to good, solid wives.
Good, solid wives! There was something in that thought which roused the
nameless uneasiness in Soames again.
What should he say to his uncle? What answer should he make to this
letter?
. . . . "If any shareholder has any question to put, I shall be glad
to answer it." A soft thump. Old Jolyon had let the report and accounts
fall, and stood twisting his tortoise-shell glasses between thumb and
forefinger.
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