The stout man looked at him with glazed eyes, pulled himself together,
and suggested huskily: "Perhaps you will buy it--at his price--and transfer it to us?"
"But why? Nothing to do with me, my old estate agent and auctioneer.
Buy it yourself. Good afternoon. Good afternoon!"
He ushered them out in a cloud of genial commonplaces.
In the street they looked at one another, and then beckoned Mr.
Staines, who was waiting on the other side of the road.
"This fellow is either as wide as Broad Street or he's a babe in arms,"
said the explosive man huskily.
"Didn't he fall?" asked the anxious Staines.
"Not noticeably," said the thin man. "This is your scheme, Jack, and
if I've dropped four thousand over that wharf, there's going to be
trouble."
Mr. Staines looked very serious.
"Give him the day," he begged. "I'll try him to-morrow--I haven't lost
faith in that lad."
As for Bones, he made an entry in his secret ledger.
"A person called Stains and two perrsons called Sole Bros. Brothers
tryed me with the old Fiddle Trick. You take a Fiddel in a Pawn
Brokers leave it with him along comes another Felow and pretends its a
Stadivarious Stradivarious a valuable Fiddel. 2nd Felow offers to pay
fablous sum pawnbroker says I'll see. When 1st felow comes for his
fiddel pawnbroker buys it at fablous sum to sell it to the 2nd felow.
But 2nd felow doesn't turn up.
"Note.--1st Felow called himself Honest John!! I dout if I dought
it."
Bones finished his entries, locked away his ledger, and crossed the
floor to the door of the outer office.
He knocked respectfully, and a voice bade him come in.
It is not usual for the principal of a business to knock respectfully
or otherwise on the door of the outer office, but then it is not usual
for an outer office to house a secretary of such transcendental
qualities, virtue, and beauty as were contained in the person of Miss
Marguerite Whitland.
The girl half turned to the door and flashed a smile which was of
welcome and reproof.
"Please, Mr. Tibbetts," she pleaded, "do not knock at my door. Don't
you realize that it isn't done?"
"Dear old Marguerite," said Bones solemnly, "a new era has dawned in
the City. As jolly old Confusicus says: 'The moving finger writes, and
that's all about it.' Will you deign to honour me with your presence
in my sanctorum, and may I again beg of you"--he leant his bony
knuckles on the ornate desk which he had provided for her, and looked
down upon her soberly--"may I again ask you, dear old miss, to let me
change offices? It's a little thing, dear old miss. I'm never, never
goin' to ask you to dinner again, but this is another matter. I am out
of my element in such a place as----" He waved his hand disparagingly
towards his sanctum. "I'm a rough old adventurer, used to sleeping in
the snow--hardships--I can sleep anywhere."