Part 41 (2/2)
”Stiles is my name--G. B. Stiles. Good name for a dry-goods salesman, don't you think so? I know the styles all right, for men, and women too. Like it out west?”
”Yes. Very well.”
”Been there long?”
”Oh, two or three years.”
”Had enough of it, likely?”
”Well, I can scarcely say that.”
”Mean to stay east now?”
”I may. I'm not settled yet.”
”Better take up my line. If I drop out, there'll be an opening with my firm--good firm, too. Ward, Williams & Co., New York. Been in New York, I suppose?”
”No, never.”
”Well, better try it. I mean to 'go west, young man.' Know anybody here? Ever live here?”
”Yes, when I was a boy.”
”Come back to the boyhood home. We all do that, you know. There's poetry in it--all do it. 'Old oaken bucket' and all that sort of thing. I mean to do it myself yet,--back to old York state.” G. B.
Stiles wiped his mouth vigorously and shoved back his chair. ”Well, see you again, I hope,” he said, and walked off, picking his teeth with a quill pick which he took from his vest pocket.
He walked slowly and meditatively through the office and out on the sidewalk. Here he paused and glanced about, and seeing his companion of the breakfast table was not in sight, he took his way around to the stables. Nels Nelson was stooping in the stable yard, was.h.i.+ng a horse's legs. G. B. Stiles came and stood near, looking down on him, and Nels straightened up and stood waiting, with the dripping rags in his hand.
”Vell, I tol' you he coomin' back sometime. I vaiting long time all ready, but yust lak I tol' you, he coom.”
”I thought I told you not to sign that telegram. But it's no matter,--didn't do any harm, I guess.”
”Dot vas a fool, dot boy dere. He ask all tam, 'Vot for? Who write dis? You not? Eh? Who sen' dis?' He make me put my name dere; den I get out putty quvick or he ask yet vat iss it for a yob you got somebody, eh?”
”Oh, well, we've got him now, and he don't seem to care to keep under cover, either.” G. B. Stiles seemed to address himself. ”Too smart to show a sign. See here, Nelson, are you ready to swear that he's the man? Are you ready to swear to all you told me?”
”It is better you gif me a paper once, vit your name, dot you gif me half dot money.”
Nels Nelson stooped deliberately and went on was.h.i.+ng the horse's legs.
A look of irritation swept over the placid face of G. B. Stiles, and he slipped the toothpick back in his vest pocket and walked away.
”I say,” called the Swede after him. ”You gif me dot paper. Eh?”
”I can't stand talking to you here. You'll promise to swear to all you told me when I was here the first time. If you do that, you are sure of the money, and if you change it in the least, or show the least sign of backing down, we neither of us get it. Understand?”
Again the Swede arose, and stood looking at him sullenly. ”It iss ten t'ousand tallers, und I get it half, eh?”
”Oh, you go to thunder!” The proprietor of the hotel came around the corner of the stable, and G. B. Stiles addressed himself to him. ”I'd like the use of a horse to-day, and your man here, if I can get him.
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