CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE PARTNERSHIP.
“WEE GATES?, Meester Harris?” said Dutch Jake, in a voice so loud that Guy trembled in apprehension. “How ish dis pisness? You got mine monish—mine eight tollars und vorty zents?”
“No,” said Guy, “I haven’t got it.”
Jake’s whole appearance changed in a second; his red face grew redder than ever; he squared himself in front of the counter, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and doubling up his huge fist, begun flourishing it in the air above his head in readiness to emphasize the words he was about to utter.
Guy saw that there was a crisis at hand, Jake was fairly boiling over with fury, and unless he was appeased on the instant, something dreadful would happen. Guy thought rapidly, and spoke just in time.
“Hold on!” said he, “and hear me out. I haven’t got the money now, but I’ll get it as soon as the book-keeper is through with the cash account, and on my way home I’ll drop in and hand it to you.”
These words produced another magical change in the angry German. The fierce frown vanished and a genial smile overspread his face. The sledge-hammer fist was opened and extended in a friendly manner across the counter toward Guy.
“Dot’s all right, Meester Harris,” said he. “Dot’s all right. Ven you comes around ve has a glass of peer at mine exbenses, ain’t it? Oh, yah!”