“What’s doing, then? Is it pleasure or business?”
“Well, a little of both, maybe. It’s always a pleasure to see you, of course; and I have got a little mite of business on hand.”
Malcolm smiled, in his languid fashion. If he suspected sarcasm in the first part of the captain’s reply, it did not trouble him. His self-sufficiency was proof against anything of that sort.
“Business,” he repeated. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. Thinking of cornering the—er—potato market, were you?”
“No-o. Cranberries would be more in my line, and I cal’late you fellers don’t deal in that kind of sass. I had a private matter I wanted to talk over with you, Mr. Dunn; that is, if you ain’t too busy.”
Malcolm looked at him with an amused curiosity. As he had expressed it in the conversation with his mother, this old fellow certainly was a “card.” He seated himself on the arm of the oak settle from which the captain had risen and, lazily swinging a polished shoe, admitted that he was always busy but never too busy to oblige.
“What’s on your mind, Captain?” he drawled.
Captain Elisha glanced about him somewhat uneasily.
“I—I don’t know as I made it quite clear,” he said, “that it was sort of private; somethin’ just between us, you understand.”
Malcolm hesitated. Sliding from the settle, and impatiently commanding the clerk to open the gate in the railing, he led his caller through the main office and into a small room beyond. On the glass pane of the door was lettered, “Mr. Dunn—Private.” A roll-top desk in the corner and three chairs were the furniture. Malcolm, after closing the door, sprawled in the swing chair before the desk, threw one leg over a drawer, which he pulled out for that purpose, and motioned his companion to occupy one of the other chairs.