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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"

I
guess I was wrong! You think them men out there are waitin' to talk
business with a drunkard? You think you can come to your office and
do business drunk? By George! I wonder how often this has been
happening and me not on to it! I'll have a look over your books
to-morrow, and I'll--"
Roscoe stumbled to his feet, laughing wildly, and stood swaying,
contriving to hold himself in position by clutching the back of
the heavy chair in which he had been sitting.
"Hoo--hoorah!" he cried. "'S my principles, too. Be drunkard all
you want to--outside business hours. Don' for Gossake le'n'thing
innerfere business hours! Business! Thassit! You're right, father.
Drink! Die! L'everything go to hell, but DON' let innerfere
business!"
Sheridan had seized the telephone upon Roscoe's desk, and was calling
his own office, overhead. "Abercrombie? Come down to my son Roscoe's
suite and get rid of some gentlemen that are waitin' there to see him
in room two-fourteen. There's Maples and Schirmer and a couple o'
fellows on the Kinsey business. Tell 'em something's come up I have
to go over with Roscoe, and tell 'em to come back day after to-morrow
at two.


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