"To him? What him?" asked Fred, breathing hard.
"To What's-his-name—Bones."
Fred took his blue silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his face.
"Go on, Joe," he said sadly
"I got him just before he went out to lunch. I sent up the United
Merchant Shippers' card—it's our company, anyway. Not a word about
Pole & Pole."
"Oh, no, of course not!" said Fred.
"And, my boy,"—this was evidently Joe's greatest achievement, for he described the fact with gusto—"not a word about the names of the ships. I just sold him two steamers, so and so tonnage, so and so classification——"
"For how much?"
Fred was mildly curious. It was the curiosity which led a certain political prisoner to feel the edge of the axe before it beheaded him.
"A hundred and twenty thousand!" cried Joe joyously. "He's starting a fleet, he says. He's calling it the Tibbetts Line, and bought a couple of ships only this morning."