“As I said afore, I have nothing to conceal. So far as I know, the standin’ of the concern is good, and it is wuth nigh on to two hundred thousand dollars.”
“And who is its head?”
“Mr. Ramsey Polk, a banker, who does business in Richmond and in New Orleans.”
“He must be the same Polk who took hold at the time my father died. I remember the name well.”
“More’n likely, lieutenant; an’, if he is, I’ll allow you have a tough customer to deal with,” added the skipper of the Columbia, with a peculiar smile.
“Then you found him hard to deal with?”
“I did.”
“Do you know if there is a Mr. Amos Bartlett still connected with the company?”
“Yes, there is; but I’ve got it putty straight that the Polks, father an’ son,—an’ the son, Nuggy, is wuss nor his dad,—are doin’ their best to squeeze him out of it.”
“And where is Mr. Bartlett, now?”