“You can’t be too keerful,” said the short man. “Remember they cost me a half-million dollars.”
“Yes, and you’ll turn it into a million,” Stark laughed again.
“Ach! The market is already down!” exclaimed the little man. “I lose my shirt.”
“If you do you can have mine,” Stark slapped the little man on the back. “Come on. Lead the way.”
Reluctantly, the little man led the way. After he had worked the combination lock on a heavy steel door, they were ushered into a room as cool and damp as a November morning. Their nostrils were greeted by a strange oily smell. It was one of the rarest sights Jimmie had ever looked upon; hundreds and hundreds of silver fox skins with fur as soft as silk.
“What fine lady would not give you a grand hug for one of these?” said Harm Stark, reading the look of admiration on Jimmie’s face.
“I know one that would,” smiled Jimmie.
“Ho! So you have a girl!” Stark roared. “I don’t blame you!”
“It’s my mother,” said Jimmie with a grin.
“Ah. There you’re right.” The big man’s voice was a little less gruff. “You’re dead right.”