Pearson was delighted.
“You will?” he cried. “Splendid! It’s mighty good of you. May I spring some of my stuff on you as I write it?”
“Sartin you may. Any time, I’ll be tickled to death. I’ll be tickled to have you call, too; that is, if callin’ on an old salt like me won’t be too tirin’.”
The answer was emphatic and reassuring.
“Thank you,” said Captain Elisha. “I’m much obliged. Come often, do. I—well, the fact is, I’m likely to get sort of lonesome myself, I’m afraid. Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if I did.”
He sighed, tossed away the stump of his cigar, and added,
“Now, I want to ask you somethin’. You newspaper fellers are supposed to know about all there is to know of everything under the sun. Do you know much about the Stock Exchange?”
Pearson smiled.
“All I can afford to know,” he said.
“Humph! That’s a pretty good answer. Knowledge is power, they say, but—but I cal’late knowledge of the Stock Exchange is poverty, with a good many folks.”