"No," he slowly said, "not everything. Go ahead, Seth."
"If you keep putting in, how can I go ahead."
"Oh, stow it!" Gleazen suddenly roared. "This is no piffling storekeeper's game. Go on!"
As you can imagine, we were all eyes and ears at this brush between the two; and when Gleazen lost his temper and burst out so hotly, in spite of my admiration for the man, I hoped, and confidently expected, to see Uncle Seth come back, hammer and tongs, and give him as good as he sent. Instead, he suddenly turned white and became strangely calm, and in a low, subdued voice went on to the rest of us:—
"We shall take on a cargo at Boston and sail for the West Indies, where we shall add a few men to the crew and thence sail for Africa. I'm sure the voyage will yield a good profit and—"
"O Seth, O Seth!" cried Gleazen, abruptly. "That is no manner of way to talk to the boys. Let me tell 'em!"
My uncle, at this, drew back in his chair and said with great dignity, "Sir, whose money is financing this venture?"
"Money?" Gleazen roared with laughter. "What's money without brains? I'll tell 'em? You sit tight."
We were all but dumbfounded. White of face and blue of lip, Seth Upham sat in his chair—his no longer!—and Gleazen told us.
He threw his cigar-butt on the floor and stepped on it, and drummed on his beaver hat with nimble fingers.