“But it was good! Real turkey!” Jimmie exclaimed. “He took me to the First National. Such a bank as that is! He didn’t just go to a teller and ask for a half million. He went to a department that deals only with raisers, dealers and manufacturers of furs. There he said, ‘Hello, Joe,’ to a man at a desk. Then he sat down at the desk, and showed the check. Joe whistled. ‘Good business,’ was all he said.
“‘Sure,’ my big friend grinned. Then he said, ‘I want so much cash, a draft on this bank, one on that one, so much on deposit.’ Just like that.”
“Just like that,” John chuckled. “I’d like to try it just once.”
“But it was all real,” Jimmie protested. “He’s the silver fox king.”
“That’s a large order,” said John.
“He told me about it,” Jimmie went on enthusiastically. “You don’t get to be the silver fox king all at once. There was a time when only wild silver fox skins were sold. Then someone caught a pair of silver foxes alive.
“He and his brother bought them, paid a lot of money for them. And when a family of little foxes arrived what do you think?” he asked.
“Can’t guess,” said John.
“They were all red foxes, worth about $10.00 apiece. All except one. He was a cross-fox. You see,” Jimmie leaned forward, “silver foxes are sort of freaks, like a white calf in a herd of red cattle.”
“What could you do about that?” John asked.