"I am anxious to treat you right, Mr. Panel. Another glass of brandy? No. Between ourselves the market is getting weaker every day. Fifty thousand profit, perhaps, may seem a small sum to you, but I cannot offer more. You are at perfect liberty to refuse my cheque; others, perhaps----"
Uncle Jap rose up grim and gaunt.
"I've ate dinner with you," he murmured, "so I'll say nothing more than 'thank you' and 'good-bye.'"
"Good-bye, Mr. Panel. At any time, if you have reason to change your mind, I shall be glad to talk business with you."
Uncle Jap returned to his own hotel to pass a restless night. Next day he sought a certain rich man who had a huge ranch in our county. The rich man, let us call him Dives, had eaten Uncle Jap's figs, and taken his advice, more than once, about cattle.
"Who's a-buyin' oil lakes?" demanded Uncle Jap.
"Nathaniel Leveson."
"Who else?"
Dives eyed Uncle Jap keenly. Rich men don't tell all they know, otherwise they would not be rich. Still, those figs and that water- melon on a broiling July afternoon had tasted uncommonly good!
"Look here, Mr. Panel, I think I can guess what has happened. Somebody has tried to squeeze you--eh?"