“Oh, all right. I expected a raise. A thousand for you, then.”
“No.”
“Two.”
“Not enough.”
“Three.”
“It might be found out here. The S. O. S. call is distinctive. You can hear the sending outside. If it is, I’m fired, and don’t get another job.”
“All right; four, then.”
The operator looked at Andy keenly. “How much higher will you go?” he asked frankly.
“Highbinder!” Andy accused him, and snatched pencil and pad. “S. O. S. Wellington sinking. S. O. S.,” he scribbled.
“Five thousand for four words; cash down!” He drew money from his pocket. “Five more if you’re caught and fired. My word for that. That’s all I had left on my letter of credit when I cashed it at Glasgow; but you know there’s more where this came from.”