"Well," he said slowly and grudgingly, "name your figure."
"I should think fifty thousand dollars was about right."
Peter Bolton gave a shudder, and pondered for a little. Then the shrewd look came again into his eyes, and he said:
"I'll be liberal, and give you more than it's worth. I'll pay you One Thousand Dollars a week for the next four weeks, and on the day that Wharton Kendrick makes his assignment, I'll give you Twenty-Five Thousand Dollars. I wouldn't do it for any one else, but I want to see that you don't lose anything."
I understood from this outburst of verbal generosity how much he overestimated my share in Wharton Kendrick's affairs.
"Well, I'll think it over and let you know," I said, rising to escape. The pressure of my indignation had reached the danger point, and I felt that if I sat there another minute my honest opinion would burst forth in words that would put an end to further hopes of getting any revelations out of him.
"You'd better take it now," he urged, with a shadow of disappointment on his face. "It's a good offer, and I might find some one else to take it up by to-morrow."
"Oh, I'll take the risk," I returned. "I have a monopoly on this business, and you know it, and I can take what time I please."
"Just as you like, young man, just as you like," he said in his sarcastic drawl. "But look out for your own interests. If you don't, I can tell you that Wharton Kendrick won't."
Before he could deliver another homily on the folly of honesty and the importance of pursuing the interests of Number One, I hastened out of the office, with the thought that I had penetrated far into the evil designs of Peter Bolton at the cost of a good deal of self-respect.