“Well, I never went in for any fine name like that. I just show the ropes to young fellows as I think will benefit, and when I want a pound I just ask the first one handy.”
“But I suppose you will have a lot of money of your own?”
“Not a penny in the world. What do I want money for? It is all very well for young fellows like you, but I would not be bothered with more than I can put in my waistcoat pocket. I tried it once, but mates were always borrowing it, or worrying me to give or lend it, so I got clear of the lot, and a good job too.”
Soft Sam was now accosted by a man who crossed the street to speak to him, and Alec heard him whisper—
“Lend us a quid, Sam; I’ve got a mug!”
As though it was a matter of course, the hand of the old man went to his pocket, and the note so recently put there changed hands once more. With this the stranger hurried away and joined another.
“Now you see what it is to have money,” said Old Sam. “Now, that Jackson is no better than a fool, and I will wager he is trying to work the confidence trick on that new chum he is with. I told him times enough it is not in his line, but he is one of the clever ones, thinks he knows everything.”
The party had turned into George Street. Soft Sam pulled up before a draper’s window, flaming with posters, announcing “A Great Fire Sale.”
“My idea,” he said, pointing to the placards. “A month ago, Smallway was nearly a broker. He came to me. I told him to make a fire in his back-yard, call out the Brigade, and give a reporter a fiver to make half a column of it. Since then he has been coining money.”
“How is that?” said Huey. “I don’t see where the profit comes in.”