“Look what it is to have money,” said he. “Log fires; nice little dinners; expensive hotels. The hardware trade must be an excellent one.”
“No better than the importing of fine oriental stuffs,” replied Webster, calmly, as he went on with his dinner. “Austin has just been telling me about his offer to you.”
“And I renew it,” spoke Austin seriously. “Since I’ve kicked out Farbush and that fellow Forrester, and since Hong Yo is dead, I’ve got the entire thing to myself. I’ll have you in as a partner, if you’ll run the business.”
“I’m going to take you up,” said Kenyon, quietly.
“Bravo!” Young Austin arose and solemnly shook the adventurer’s hand. “Do you know, the sudden shifting of all this upon my shoulders has sort of upset me. I’ve got work to do at my laboratories in Chicago, and will have no time to fool away on a shipping trade at Seattle. Another thing: I have no taste for the thing, and could never grasp its details.”
“And Kenyon is just the fellow for it,” put in Webster. “He knows more about China than most people; and then he’s a regular bull-terrier for holding on. I always said he’d make an excellent business man.”
“Thanks,” smiled Kenyon, “your friendly offices, Garry, are very grateful. And they are much more kindly meant than those of my old co-laborer, Balmacenso.”
Webster lifted his brows.
“You’ve learned something against that worthy revolutionist, then,” said he.
“Yes; among the securities and other papers which I took from Forrester and turned over to Austin were a few letters which I took the liberty of withholding. They were addressed to Forrester and signed with my name—but they were in the handwriting of Balmacenso.”