“I have thought of that, Fitz. I do not forget that I informed him I would lay my cane over his back the next time we met, but that mattuh can wait. This concerns the welfare of my dea’est friend and takes precedence of all personal feelin’s.”
“But, Colonel, he would only show you the door. He don’t want talk. He wants something solid as a margin. I’ve sent it to him right along for their account, and he’ll get what’s coming to him to-day, but talk won’t do any good.”
“What do you mean by somethin’ solid, Fitz?”
“Gilt-edged collateral,—5.20’s or something as good.”
“I presume any absolutely safe security would answer?”
“Yes.”
“And of what amount?”
“Oh, perhaps fifty thousand,—perhaps a hundred. I’ll know to-morrow.”
The Colonel communed with himself for a moment, made a computation with his lips assisted by his fingers, and said with great dignity:
“You haven’t had my ‘Garden Spots’ bonds printed yet, have you?”