"Be a little patient, can't you?" irritably retorted the other. "Money doesn't grow on trees. Now listen, Hank. How would you like to get a nice little sum of money—more than I could give you—for camping out on Kidd's Island, in the Upper Inlet, for a few days?"
Hank's fishy eyes showed some trace of feeling at this.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Is this a new joke you're putting up on me?"
"No, I am perfectly serious. You can make a good sum by following our directions, and I'll see that you get into no trouble over it."
"Well, if you can do that, I'll keep my mouth shut," chuckled Hank in his mirthless way; "but if I don't get some money pretty quick, I'm going to make trouble fer somebody, I tell you!"
"Haven't you got some place where we can talk that is less exposed than this?" said Jack, looking about him apprehensively.
"Sure, there's my mansion," grinned Hank, pointing over his shoulder with a fishy thumb.
"That's the place," said Jack, "although I wish you'd clean it out occasionally. Now listen, Hank, here's the plan—"
Still talking, the ill-assorted pair entered the ruinous shack.