"I'd like to see Mr. Davis," said Samson as Eli went away.
"I'm Mr. Davis's secretary," the young man politely informed him.
"What's a secretary?" Samson asked.
"It's a man who helps another with his work."
"I don't need any help myself—thank you," said Samson. "You tell him that I've got some money that belongs to him and that I'm ready to deliver it."
The young man disappeared through the door of the private office and soon returned and conducted Samson into the presence of Mr. Davis who sat at a handsome desk, smoking, in a room with fine old mahogany furnishings brought up from New Orleans. The two men recognized each other.
"Well, sir, what is it about?" the young speculator demanded.
"The daughter of my old friend, Jack Kelso, owes you some money and I want to pay it," said Samson.
"Oh, that is a matter between Miss Kelso and me." Mr. Davis spoke politely and with a smile.
"Not exactly—since I knew about it," Samson answered.