"How much?" I gasped faintly, watching him closely, for I could not believe it.
"Only a measly million," he replied with deprecating cockiness. "It was as much as I could do to make them let us come in at all. If it weren't for your cold feet I would have taken the three millions." And his chuckle irritated me beyond words.
He was in earnest. He was not joking.
"And where the devil," I spluttered, "will you get the money for even the initial payment?"
"Raise it, my boy, raise it," he bent, beetling over me. "If we want to amount to anything we've got to take chances. One syndicate participation like that and perhaps another with the newspaper publicity, and we're made men in the Street. Got to do it. Want to be a piker all your life? I don't!"
"You're—mad—" I stammered limply. "Stark, raving mad. And how do you propose to raise the money?"
"By selling the bonds, fellow!" he announced with aloof superiority.
"Have you got the bonds?"
"No. They are not even in this country. We give them ad interim certificates until the bonds arrive."
"Have you got the certificates?"