“Proprietor in?” says the man, chopping off his words like he hated to use them at all.
“I’m one of t-them,” says Mark. “What can I do for you?”
“Liner ad. How much?” He didn’t throw in one extra word for good measure. After he was gone Mark says he bet he was stingy as anything. He said he guessed so because he hated to give away the cheapest thing in the world—which is talk.
“Cent a word,” says Mark.
The Man With the Black Gloves poked out a paper to Mark and says, “Head it ‘Personal.’” Then he passed over a quarter and Mark counted the words and gave back the change. The man turned and went out as quiet as he came, not even nodding good-by.
Mark stood looking after him, and when he was out of ear-shot he turned to me and said almost in a whisper, “Binney, l-l-look here!”
Something in his voice made me come quick. I took the paper out of his hand and read what was written on it. It said:
Jethro: On deck. Report. Center Line Bridge. Eight. G. G. G.
“Funny kind of an ad.,” says I.
“F-f-funny kind of a man,” says Mark. “What d’you make of it?”