Gold Comes in Bricks Read Online Free

had a low-pitched, throaty, seductive voice, but when she became excited, it jumped up an octave and bounced off the roof of her mouth as easily as hail off a tin roof.
    “I think it’s absolutely marvelous, and, with it all, he’s just as modest as he can be. He hardly ever talks about his work. He feels that Henry isn’t interested in it. I’ll bet you don’t even know about their latest strike, Henry, or what Bob—”
    “I have enough business at the office,” Henry interrupted.
    “But you should get together more with Bob. You know, after all, in his position as president of the Foreclosed Farms Underwriters Company, Bob has opportunities to learn a lot of what’s going on in the business world. Some of that knowledge might prove very valuable to you, Henry.”
    “Yes, my love, but I’m too tired when I get home to talk business.”
    She sighed. “Oh, you businessmen! Bob is the same way. You just can’t get a word out of him.”
    “Where is he now?” I asked.
    “Down in the billiard room with his sales manager, Parker Stold.”
    Ashbury nodded to me. “Come on, Lam. We’ll go meet Bob and Stold.”
    I said conventional things to Mrs. Ashbury, and she took my hand and held it for a minute. When I got away, Henry Ashbury led the way down a long corridor, down a flight of stairs, and into another corridor. I could see a playroom on one side, with a long Ping-pong table. On the other side was a room from which came the click of balls and a mumble of conversation.
    Ashbury opened the door. A man who had been getting ready to make a shot, with one hip on the table, climbed down and said “Hello, Governor,” to Ashbury.
    This was Robert Tindle, a chap with a sloping forehead, long, straight nose, and eyes the color of cheap glass marbles—a watery green, covered with a film that was like scum. You felt that if you looked at those eyes closely, you’d see lots of little air bubbles. His face didn’t have any particular expression, and all I could think of when I looked at him was the ad for the contented cows.
    He wore a dinner jacket and shook hands without enthusiasm.
    Parker Stold evidently had something on his mind. He regarded our visit as an interruption, and acknowledged the introduction to me with a quick “Please’-t’-meetcha” and didn’t offer to shake hands. His eyes were a little too close together, but his hair was wavy, and he had a nice mouth. I figured he was a little older than Bob.
    The butler got me up at seven o’clock the next morning. I shaved, dressed, and went down to the gymnasium. It was a big, bare room on the basement floor just back of the billiard room. It had the smell of never having been used. There were a punching bag, horizontal bars, Indian clubs, dumbbells, weight-lifting machines, a canvas wrestling mat, and, at the far end, a squared ring for boxing. There were boxing gloves hanging on a rack. I went over and looked at them. The price tags, which had turned yellow with age, were still tied by a faded-green string to the laces.
    I was wearing a pair of tennis shoes, slacks, and an athletic undershirt. When Henry Ashbury came in, he was bundled up in a bathrobe. He slipped it off and stood with nothing on but some boxer’s tights.
    He looked like hell.
    “Well,” he said, “here we are.”
    He looked down at his watermelon paunch. “I suppose I’ve got to do something about this.” He walked over to the weight-lifting machine and began tugging away at the weights and puffing and blowing. After a minute he stepped aside and nodded toward them. “Do you want a workout?” he asked.
    “No,” I said.
    “Neither do I, but I’ve got to.”
    “Why don’t you try sitting up straighter—get a better posture?”
    “I sit down because I want to be comfortable. I’m most comfortable when I’m slumped down in a chair.”
    “Go ahead and exercise, then,” I said.
    He flashed me a quick glance and acted as though he was going to say something, but