“I’m a lawyer. Sit down,” was my cheerful lie.
The stranger hauled out his flask. “Do you ever indulge?”
“No.”
“So much the better. Lawyers ought to keep their brains cool. Seeing that you’ve got the brains and propose to keep ’em cool, I’ve got to keep up my nerve—and so I’ll take a drink.” He sucked at the flask again. “Where do you live?”
“In the East.”
“Then you don’t know this country and the laws out in this section,” said the stranger, showing his disappointment.
“Oh yes, I do; I used to live out here. That’s why I happen to be here now. I’m investigating investments for Eastern capital.”
My new acquaintance leaned dose, so close that his whisky-saturated breath left vapor on my cheeks.
“I have found out something that’s big. I thought I could handle it myself. I have started out to handle it myself. But when I saw you I said to myself, ‘There’s a squire, and he knows law and probably his brains are cooler than mine.’ I’ve got the secret and I’ve got the grit, but I need law, too—and I ain’t sure of all the fine points. I want you to come along with me and stand at my back and hand me the fine points as I need ’em. What do you charge per day for peddling law?”
“I’ll have to know what the deal is first.”