Part 9 (1/2)

”No, you don't,” hurriedly interposed Mr. Pickins, losing his nasal drawl for the moment and reaching for the bill, which he put back in the package, snapping a weak rubber band around it. ”I reckon I don't let go of one of these bills till I see something in exchange. I--I ain't no greenhorn!”

His nasal drawl had come back, and now seemed to be the cue for all the others to affect laughter.

”To be sure he's not,” said Mr. Phelps, reaching over to slap him on the back in all the jovial heartiness with which a greenhorn is supposed to be encouraged. ”You're wise, all right, Pickins. We wouldn't do business with you if you weren't. You see, we're putting ourselves in danger of the penitentiary and we have to be careful.

More than that, wise people come back; and, with a dozen or so like Mr. Pickins shoving the queer for us, we put out about all we can make. n.o.body in the business, Mr. Pickins, gets as high a price for green-goods as we do, and n.o.body in the business keeps all their customers as we do. That's because our output is so good.”

This, which was one of the rehea.r.s.ed speeches, went off very well, and they began to feel comfortable again.

”That's me, by Jinks!” announced Pickins, slapping his leg. ”I'll be one of your steady customers, all right. When'll I get this first twenty thousand?”

”Right away,” said Mr. Phelps, rising. ”Just wait a moment till I talk it over with the engraver and see if he has the supply ready.”

”The supply's all right,” declared Wallingford. ”These boys will 'tend to the business with you, Mr. Pickins. I'm very glad to have met you.

I'll probably see you to-night at the show. I have to go back and look after a little more engraving just now.” And, shaking hands cordially with Mr. Pickins, he rose to go.

”Wait a minute, Mombley,” said Phelps amidst a general scowl, and he walked outside with Wallingford. ”Fine work, old man,” he complimented, keeping his suavity with no little effort. ”We can go right in and pick our bunch of posies any minute.”

”Go right ahead!” said Wallingford heartily. ”I'm glad to have helped you out a little.”

Mr. Phelps looked at him in sour speculation.

”Of course you're in on it,” he observed with a great air of making a merely perfunctory remark.

”Me?” inquired Wallingford in surprise. ”Not on your life. I only played engraver for accommodation. I thought I did a grand little piece of work, too.”

”But we can't go through without you,” insisted Mr. Phelps desperately, ignoring the other's maddening complacency and sticking to the main point. ”It takes twenty thousand and we only have five thousand apiece. We're looking to you for the other five.”

Wallingford looked him squarely in the eyes, with an entire change of manner, and chuckled.

”There are four reasons, Phelps, why I won't,” he kindly explained.

”The first is, I never do anything in partners.h.i.+p; second, I never pike; third, I won't take a fall out of any game that has the brown-and-white-striped clothes at the end of it; fourth, Billy might not get the satchels switched right; _extra, I won't fool with any farmer that strikes a match on the sole of his boot_!”

The fifth and extra reason was so unexpected and was laid before Mr.

Phelps with such meaning emphasis that that gentleman could only drop his jaw and gape in reply. Wallingford laid both hands on his shoulders and chuckled in his face.

”You're a fiercely unimaginative bunch,” he said. ”Let's don't try to do any more business together. Just come up to my room to-night and have a friendly game of stud poker.”

At last Green-Goods Harry found his tongue.

”You go to h.e.l.l!” said he.

Back in their common sitting-room, Wallingford found Daw studying some gaudy samples of stock certificates. ”Blackie, did you tell this gang of yours that they didn't drink enough to suit me?” Wallingford demanded.

Blackie grinned.

”They wanted to know why you wouldn't warm up,” he admitted.

”I see the pretty, pretty lights at last,” Wallingford chuckled. ”I was sure there was something doing when Curly Harry came up here claiming a thirst, and went so far as to drink champagne on top of a highball.”