“Oh, yes, yes; I see!” he said, after a moment. “You object to tobacco, then?”
Galusha drew a relieved breath. “Why—ah—no,” he said, slowly, “not to—ah—tobacco.” Then he added, hastily: “But, really, Mr. Pulcifer, I must be going.”
Pulcifer pushed him back into the chair again. His tone became brisk and businesslike. “Hold on, Perfessor,” he said. “You say you want to make money?”
Galusha had not said so, but it seemed scarcely worth while to deny the assertion. And Raish waited for no denial. “You want to make money,” he repeated. “All right, so do I. And I've got a scheme that'll help us both to make a little. Now listen. But before I tell you, you've got to give me your word to keep it dark; see?”
Galusha promised and Raish proceeded to explain his scheme. Briefly it amounted to this: Galusha Bangs, being a close acquaintance of Martha Phipps and Jethro Hallett, was to use that acquaintanceship to induce them to sell their shares in the Development Company. For such an effort, if successful, on the part of Mr. Bangs, he, Horatio Pulcifer, was prepared to pay a commission of fifty dollars, twenty-five when he received Martha's shares and twenty-five when Jethro's were delivered.
“There,” he said, in conclusion, “is a chance I'm offerin' you, as a friend, to clean up fifty good, hard, round dollars. What do you say, old man?”
The “old man”—Galusha winced slightly at the appellation—did not seem to know what to say. His facial expression might have indicated any or all of a variety of feelings. At last, he stammered a question. Why did Mr. Pulcifer wish to obtain the Development stock? This question Raish would not answer.
“Never mind,” he said. “I do, that's all. And I've got the money to do it with. I'll pay cash for their stock and I'll pay you cash when you or they hand it over. That's business, ain't it?”
“But—but, dear me, Mr. Pulcifer, why do you ask ME to do this? Why—”
“Ain't I told you? You're a friend of mine and I'm givin' you the chance because I think you need the money. That's a reason, ain't it?”