“Yes,” said the fat important little man, “I like you.”
Bartholomew Doome bowed. The dealer put out a hand.
“Don’t you sneer, Mr. Doome. A man can’t give more than he’s got—and liking’s the biggest thing he’s got—to bestow.”
Bartholomew Doome smiled:
“You will know when I sneer, Mr. Malahide—I do not feel like it yet,” he said.
“No; well, I’m glad of that, sir.... Because—I’m going to ask you if you’ll accept an offer. You can but refuse it, when all’s said—and break my heart.... I wouldn’t dare to make it, but I’m a shrewd business man, and I’ve hunted up one or two young fellows I’ve seen about with you, and asked them how you lived—and it has emboldened me——”
“One moment, Mr. Malahide. I will ask you no names, but—may I ask how my friends solved the problem?”
The fat dealer laughed embarrassedly:
“They said they were damned if they knew.”
Doome smiled: