"It's on the shores of the Mediterranean."
"Now that don't tell me any more than I knew before," said Gibbs, "but if the climate's good for old guys with the coin, that's about all we want. It'll make the front all right, especially at this time o' year."
Marriott nodded again.
"All right, that'll do. An old banker goes there for his health--just as if it was Hot Springs."
Gibbs thought a moment longer.
"Now, of course, the kid's father'll make it good, won't he? He'll put up?"
"Yes," said Marriott. He was rather faint and sick about it all--and yet it was working beautifully, and it must be done. Even then Ward was pacing the floor somewhere--and Elizabeth, she was waiting and depending on him. "Shall I bring you his check?"
"Hell, no!" exclaimed Gibbs. "We'll want the cash. I'll get it of him. The fewer hands, the better."
Marriott was wild to get away; he could scarcely wait, but he remembered suddenly Curly's commissions, and he must attend to them, of course. He felt a great gratitude just now to Curly.
When Marriott told Gibbs of Curly's request, Gibbs shook his head decidedly and said: