“In six months your go-downs will be full of it—my Simiacine, my Simiacine.”
“By God, I wish I had a hand in it.”
Maurice Gordon pushed the decanter again—gently, almost surreptitiously.
“And so you may, some day. You help me and I'll help you—that is my ticket. Reciprocity—reciprocity, my dear Maurice.”
“Yes, but how?”
“Can't tell you now, but I will in good time—in my own time. Come, let's join the ladies—eh? haha!”
But at this moment the servant brought in coffee, saying in his master's ear that Miss Jocelyn had gone to bed with a slight headache.
CHAPTER XV. A CONFIDENCE
The spirits
Of coming things stride on before their issues.