Mr. Horace Dobb, concluding his exposition with an emphatic prophecy of success, settled himself back in his chair, and smiled round on his old shipmates with a certain high, patronizing confidence, as a card-player might triumphantly sit back after spreading an invincible hand on the table for open inspection.
There followed a short, analytical silence, punctuated towards its close by crescendo grunts which indicated a widening and warming comprehension. And next arose an incoherent little duet, made up of the beginnings of exclamations of admiration from the lips of Mr. Joseph Tridge and Mr. Peter Lock, while the tribute of the ancient and corpulent Mr. Samuel Clark took the flattering form of speechlessness, allied to a slow, marvelling oscillation of the head and a gaze almost of veneration at Mr. Dobb.
And then Mr. Joseph Tridge, never a man to restrain honest sentiments, rose from his chair and forcefully pounded Mr. Dobb’s shoulder in token of esteem for his astuteness, and at the same time loudly challenged the world to produce Mr. Dobb’s equal either in artfulness or fertility of invention. And Mr. Peter Lock affectionately declared that Mr. Dobb, far from being spoiled by life ashore, was now even a bigger rascal than when he had served as cook to the “Jane Gladys,” of mixed memories.
These compliments Mr. Dobb equably accepted as his just due, merely observing that he counted himself fortunate to have the co-operation of men who had graduated in craft on that ill-reputed vessel to assist him now in furthering the more ambitious plans for which his present occupations as second-hand dealer offered such scope. As sufficient answer to an interpolated suggestion of Mr. Tridge’s, he reminded them that “Strictly Business” was his motto, and explained that, therefore, he would produce no bottles nor tumblers till it was manifest that all present thoroughly understood their parts in the plan of campaign he had outlined to them.
“Let’s see,” said Mr. Clark. “Peter Lock’s the ’ero, ain’t he?”
“Not the ’ero,” corrected Mr. Dobb. “The rightful heir.”
“I’ve seen ’em at the theatre,” stated Mr. Clark, vaguely. “With their ’air all smarmed down with ile, and being shot at by villains, and what-not. There’s generally a gal or two in the offing and—”
“Well, anyway,” interrupted Mr. Lock, with some satisfaction, “I’ve got to be pretty conspicuous. What’s that worth, Horace?”
“Same to you as to the others,” replied Mr. Dobb. “When I’ve taken one quid, cost price, off the sum received, and another one quid for profit, and one quid more because it’s my idea, the rest is divided into five equal shares and we takes each one, and one over for me!”
“Good enough!” accepted Mr. Lock. “All right. I’ll be the unfortunate young chap what’s lost his great-uncle. What was his name, Horace?”