“Perhaps you wouldn't be above explaining.”
“Not at all. If I told you that, I would be as bad as they are. Why, sir, I would be the yellowest yellow dog in the country.”
“Frankness is not apt to have an effect so serious,” I said.
Again the points of his forefingers came together as he gently answered:
“You see, the first demand they made of me, after putting the story in my hands, was that I should never give out their names. I had to promise that.”
“Oh, I see. They've elected you to the office of Guardian Angel and Secretary of the Treasury. How did it happen?”
The query didn't annoy him. He was getting used to my sallies, and went on:
“It was easy and natural as drawing your breath. Those men knew that I had met Mr. Norris—that I was a man of his class, and could talk to him on even terms. They had got the story from a man now dead—paid him five hundred dollars for it. They wanted my help to make a profit, see? I had met Mr. Norris and liked him. He is one of Nature's noblemen. So I played a friendly part in the matter, and bought the story and turned it over to Mr. Norris for what it cost me, and he gave me two hundred dollars for my time. Unfortunately, they have turned out to be rascals, and we have had to keep them in spending money, and prosperity has made them extravagant. The whole thing has become a nuisance to me, and I wish I was out of it.”
“What do they want now?” I asked.
“Ten thousand dollars.”