Mr. Fred looked long and earnestly at the young man.
"Mr. Tibbetts," he said, and suddenly grasped the hand of Bones, "I hope we are going to be friends. I like you. That's my peculiarity—I like people or I dislike them. Now that I've told you that we bought two ships from your uncle for one hundred and forty thousand pounds when we knew—yes, positively knew—they were worth at least twenty thousand pounds more—now I've told you this, I feel happier."
"Worth twenty thousand pounds more?" said Bones thoughtfully.
Providence was working overtime for him, he thought.
"Of anybody's money," said Fred stoutly. "I don't care where you go, my dear chap. Ask Cole—he's the biggest shipping lawyer in this city—ask my brother, who, I suppose, is the greatest shipping authority in the world, or—what's the use of asking 'em?—ask yourself. If you're not Saul Tibbetts all over again, if you haven't the instinct and the eye and the brain of a shipowner—why, I'm a Dutchman! That's what I am—a Dutchman!"
He picked up his hat and his lips were pressed tight—a gesture and a grimace which stood for grim conviction.
"What are they worth to-day?" asked Bones, after a pause.
"What are they worth to-day?" Mr. Fred frowned heavily at the ceiling. "Now, what are they worth to-day? I forget how much I've spent on 'em—they're in dock now."
Bones tightened his lips, too.
"They're in dock now?" he said. He scratched his nose. "Dear old Fred
Pole," he said, "you're a jolly old soul. By Jove that's not bad!
'Pole' an' 'soul' rhyme—did you notice it?"
Fred had noticed it.