“Air you goin’ to reside in this town, stranger?” asked Mr. Harman.
“Eight hours,” replied the stranger, “boat starts at eight p.m. Smart’s my name, and smart’s my nature, and not being Methuselah, I find time an object in life. What, may I ask, is the population of this town, air there any opportunities on this island and what’s the condition, in your experience, of the luxury trades—may I ask?”
“Dunno,” said Harman, “ain’t been here long enough to find out.”
“I got landed to prospect,” went on the other, “I’m trading—trading in pearls. O.K. pearls. Wiseman and Philips is our house and our turnover is a million dollars in a year. Yes, sir, one million dollars. From Athabasca to Mexico City the females of forty-two states and two territories cough up one million dollars a year for personal adornment, and Wiseman and Philips does the adorning. I’m travelling the islands now. Well, here’s a hotel—and good day to you, gentlemen.”
He dived into the Continental and Harman and Davis walked on.
“Well,” said the intrigued Harman, “it sorter makes one feel alive, comin’ in touch with chaps like that—notice the bag he was carryin’, looked as if the hide’d been taken off a cow that’d been skeered to death. I’ve seen them sort of bags before on passenger ships, and they always belonged to nobs. That was a sure enough panama he was wearin’, and did you notice the di’mond ring on his finger?”
“He’s a damn fish-scale jewellery drummer,” said Davis, “out to sell dud pearls and save five dollars a week out of his travelling allowance, notice he never offered to stand drinks? The earth’s crawling with the likes of him, selling servant girls everything from dud watches to dummy gramophones.”
But Harman was not listening, the million-dollar turnover, the imitation crocodile skin bag and the sure enough panama hat had seized on his imagination.
It suddenly seemed to him that he had missed his chance, that here was the nucleus of the syndicate he wanted, a sharp, sure-enough American with a big company behind him and lots of money to burn. He said so, and Davis laughed.
“Now get it into your head you won’t do more than waste your time with chaps like those,” said he. “Of course, they’ve got the money, but even if you could get to their offices and deal with them instead of their two-cent drummer, where’d you be? Do you mean to say you’d have any chance with these sharps, trying to sell a dud proposition to them? Why, when they’d took out your back teeth to see if there was any gold in them and stripped you to your pants, you wouldn’t have done with them, you’d be stuck for an atlas of the world, or maybe a piano organ on the instalment plan, givin’ them sixty per cent. on the takings and a mortgage on the monkey. You get me? Sometimes you’re sharp enough, but once your wits get loose, it’s away with you. This chap isn’t any use—forget him.”