"I ought to be. I burned it myself!"
"No! You're stuffing us, J. C. You may be clever; but you're not as clever as that! Say, will you swear to that?"
"Here's a bible, Blatch. Make him swear to it and the deal's on." The Honorable Milton handed a small bible across the desk as he spoke. "If that's the situation, I guess it's safe to go ahead."
"You son-of-a-gun!" cried Ferguson, when Nickleby had duly taken his oath. "I don't mind admitting that when I first heard your proposition I thought it was impossible to get away with it. You buy a farm, turn it into a subdivision, hand it over to us, then we hand it back to you as collateral for a loan of $250,000, with which we purchase from you the subdivision and all your stock in the company, which gives us control of the transaction—Phew! give me air!"
"You understand, Nickleby, that we've got to be mighty careful how this thing is handled," said Waring gravely. "It's taking chances."
"'Nothing venture, nothing win,'" quoted Nickleby. "But I'll cover it up. Leave that to me."
"Lawson has a lot of friends, remember. There's Ben Wade, for instance——"
"You needn't worry about him, Milt. He hasn't been able to get together more than thirty per cent. of the votes."
"And there's Timothy Drexel—He's a director, isn't he?"
"That old fool! Yes, he's a director; but he's putty! Hand him some taffy and you can pat him into any shape you like. You should have heard his speech when he nominated me for president last year," and Nickleby laughed heartily at the recollection.