Gregory nodded, trying to remember where he had seen the man before. Suddenly he remembered. It was on the day his father's body had been brought in. Near the alien wharf a man had jostled against him. A man with a bright red cap, smoking a cigarette.
"I am Mascola."
The visitor spoke the words slowly as if anxious that none of the importance of the introduction might be lost or passed over lightly.
Gregory looked Mascola over carefully. The man's carelessness and seeming irreverence on that never-to-be-forgotten day might not have been intentional. He must not allow his prejudice to interfere with his judgment. That was not business. He resolved to hear what the man had to say.
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.
Mascola walked unbidden to a chair and seated himself before replying: "You will want fish before
long, Mr. Gregory. I would like to contract for my men to get them for you."
Gregory was nettled by Mascola's calm assurance. He had a mind to send him packing. Blair, he remembered, had evidently had but little use for the Italian. But Blair too might have been prejudiced. It was business perhaps to hear the man's proposal.
"What is your proposition?" he asked, hoping Mascola would be brief.
In this he was not disappointed. Mascola plunged his hand into the pocket of his vest and drew forth a paper which he placed in Gregory's hand.