“I know he would. He sticks to the docks because it’s his policy. But he’d take a gang of dock wallopers out to San Francisco if he got double-crossed that far away! You can figure for yourself what he’d do in New York!”
There was a momentary silence. Then Ernie spoke.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve got the cash for you, Ben. Guess I’d better give it to you now. Two grand is right, ain’t it?”
“O.K.”
CLIFF’S fingers had been pressing against a corner of the compo-board partition. His fingers had suddenly found a rough spot. Looking close, he saw that it was a nail hole.
With his finger nail, Cliff spread the opening. He placed his eye against it. He saw into the other room.
Ernie Shires was facing Big Ben over a table. Ernie was counting off a roll of bills — most of them fifty dollars in denomination.
“Eighteen-fifty, nineteen, nineteen-fifty, twenty” — Ernie laughed. “There’s your two grand, Ben. Hope it squares you with Bart.”
“It’ll help!” replied Ben tersely. “Help me, and help you!”
He ran over the bank notes one by one; then began to fold the roll to place it in his pocket.