“Came from Richmond to ’Frisco, an’ from ’Frisco here,” was the unsteady answer. “’Bout four months ago—came on mail steamer. Going to China—do the country in ’bout six weeks, and then go home again. This don’t suit at all. Richmond is good enough for me.”
“I suppose you’ll have a good deal of work to do in China for your company.”
“A little, lieutenant. You see, I don’t believe in killing myself with labor.” Nuggy Polk tried to laugh, but the effort only ended in a hiccough. “Main object is to find a man named Bartlett, a fellow who owns a little block of stock in our concern.”
“Going to buy him out?”
“You’ve struck the head on the nail—I mean—er—the nail on the nai—no, the nail on the—the head—yes, the head. Don’t want Bartlett in the company any more. He’ll make too much money if he stays in.” And Nuggy Polk gave a chuckle.
“Supposing this Bartlett won’t sell out?”
“He’s got to, or we’ll—er—we’ll squeeze him, same as we did the others.”
“Bound to hold on to a good thing, I see,” commented Gilbert, speaking as carelessly as possible. “I suppose you and your father organized the company in the first place.”
“Not exactly, although it was father’s idea. There was a fellow named Jefferson Pennington used to do quite a business in tobacco and cotton, and some tea and coffee; and the company started out of his trade.”
“Oh! then this Pennington is at the top of the concern.”