“Not at all. I only want to be on the safe side. I haven’t come all the way from Wisconsin to be sucked in—let me tell you that.”
“You needn’t holler so,” he says. “I hain’t deef. Do you want every one in the saloon to hear you?”
“You don’t think there’s no danger, do you?” I says.
“No, I guess nothing serious is done yet,” says he, “but to make all sure I’ll just step out and look how the land lays.”
I knew his game. He’d gone to make ready to shift the bags—it was the old dodge. I made up my mind to use the minute I had for all it was worth. There was two doors to the place, the one leading into the saloon we’d came in by. I wanted to see where the other led to and I found out, for I opened it with one of my skeleton keys. Theater Alley was outside.
I didn’t fasten the door, and had no more’n time to get back to the desk where he’d left me than Mr. Clancy was in again.
“It’s all right,” he says. “Nobody tumbled. Don’t talk so loud again—that’s all. Now I’ll show you the goods, and we’ll close this little transaction in just about two seconds. I want you to understand, my friend, that this is no saw-dust swindle. I know you think so, but you are as much mistaken as though you’d lost your shirt. There’ll be no sending the goods by express. No, sir. I shall give them to you right in this room, and here they are.”
He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a big pile of new greenbacks—straight money, mind you, every bit of it. It takes money to run a green-goods business, I want you to understand.
“How much’ll you take?” says he, after I had examined one or two sample bills till I told him I was satisfied.
“Guess I’ll strike in with a thousand dollars’ worth,” says I. “How much’ll that buy?”