“That,” said Dane, “will need a good many dollars, and you insisted on flinging those you had away. How are you going to make them?”
“I don’t know,” said Witham simply. “Still, by some means it will be done.”
It was next day when he walked into Graham’s office at Winnipeg, and laughed when the broker who shook hands, passed the cigar box across to him.
“We had better understand each other first,” he said. “You have heard what has happened to me, and will not find me a profitable customer to-day.”
“These cigars are the best in the city, or I wouldn’t ask you to take one,” said Graham dryly. “You understand me, anyway. Wait until I tell my clerk that if anybody comes round I’m busy.”
A bell rang, a little window opened and shut again, and Witham smiled over his cigar.
“I want to make thirty thousand dollars as soon as I can, and it seems to me there are going to be opportunities in this business. Do you know anybody who would take me as clerk or salesman?”
Graham did not appear astonished.
“You’ll scarcely make them that way if I find you a berth at fifty a month,” he said.
“No,” said Witham. “Still, I wouldn’t purpose keeping it for more than six months or so. By that time I should know a little about the business.”