"I don't quite getcha."
"You're under my orders from now on, Murk. We'll have a nice row, standing back to back perhaps. I'll take you on as a sort of valet and bodyguard. You'll have good clothes and a home and plenty to eat and a bit of money to spend. I'll expect you to be loyal. If I find that you are not—well, Murk, I got back yesterday from Central America. I got my million down there, by fighting for it, and there were times when I had to handle men roughly. I can read men, Murk. Can you imagine what I'd do to a man who double crossed me?"
"I getcha now! You needn't be afraid I'll double cross you. I don't think this is real."
"It's real, Murk, if we strike a bargain. Do we?"
"I've got everything to win and nothin' to lose—so we do!" Murk said.
"Fair enough. Now we'll get off this dock. Pick up your cap and coat."
Murk picked them up and put them on, and then he followed at Prale's heels until they were on the street and beneath the nearest light. There they stopped and looked each other over.
Murk was short, but he was built for strength. Prale could tell at a glance that the man, even poorly nourished as he was, had muscles that could be depended on. Prale liked the look around Murk's eyes, too. Murk was a dog man, the sort that proves faithful to the end if treated right.
"Well, how do you like me?" Prale asked.
"You look good to me, sir."