“They are that!” his guest agreed with unction. “Lord, I don’t know when I’ve had a feed like this, and three good hookers of Scotch and such tobacco!” He lighted a fresh cigar and sprawled back in his chair with a sigh of content. “This is certainly the life!”
“There’s more Scotch——” Storm began suggestively, but Horton shook his head.
“Not for mine, thanks. I’m at peace with the world. If it weren’t for that bag of mine——”
“What’s in it, anyway?” Storm asked idly. “Money for your gang out there?”
“You’ve guessed it, son.” Horton sat up suddenly. “I’ll show you something that will make your eyes pop out, for all your big deals! You fellows who write checks and tear off coupons don’t know what money is; it is only when you handle the actual coin in bulk that you realize what it stands for.”
He crossed to the closet and unlocked it while Storm watched him, diverted in spite of himself at the other’s complacency.
“Here you are!” Horton placed the bag on the table and opened it. “Have a look!”
Storm obeyed. Packets of yellow-backed bills, sheaves on sheaves of them, met his gaze, and cylinders of coins. The bag was filled to the brim with them!
“All gold!” Horton explained, pointing to the cylinders. “Some of the Hunkies won’t take anything else. Do you know how much I’ve got here, old scout? One hundred and twelve thousand, five hundred and fifty-two dollars and eighty-four cents!”