“The fact of the matter is,” the former explained, “Mr. Littleham here is tied up with so much land that he has very little of the ready to spare at present. Personally, I have been so fortunate lately in the City, had so many good things brought to me by my pals, that I am pretty well up to the neck until things begin to move.”
Jacob studied the speaker thoughtfully. He was an observant person, and he noticed that Mr. Dane Montague’s glossy hat showed signs of frequent ironing, that there were traces of ink at the seams of his black coat, and the suggestion of a patch on the patent boot which lingered modestly under his chair.
“You mean, I suppose, that you wish me to provide the whole of the capital?” Jacob remarked.
Mr. Dane Montague coughed.
“You happen to be the only one of the trio who has it in fluid form,” he pointed out. “It would suit us better to recognise you a little more generously in the partition of the profits as the land is sold, and for you to finance the whole thing.”
“I have no objection to that,” Jacob decided, “provided I am satisfied in other respects. How far is this delectable spot by road?”
“Twenty-two miles,” Mr. Littleham replied. “Barely that if you know the way.”
“I will inspect the property this afternoon,” Jacob announced.
“Capital!” Mr. Dane Montague exclaimed. “You are a man after my own heart, Mr. Pratt. You strike while the iron’s hot. Now what about a little lunch, say at the Milan, before starting?”