“Yes.”
“I’ll see him in hell first,” said Old Bee.
I thought this ended the matter for good, and said as much to Mears when John Cæsar had departed. But my friend was far from being cast down.
“Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I count it as good as settled.”
This was more than I could say, and I had no cause to change my mind on my next meeting with Old Bee.
“I’m putting twelve tons of stuff aboard for the Tapatuea store,” said Mears, “and I’ve told Young Hopeful, here, that you’ll keep a berth for him.”
“The devil!” said Old Bee, and went straight on with the business he had in hand.
The next day the broker signed my contract by virtue of some power of attorney he possessed for Bibo & Co.
“If he backs out now, you can sue him for damages,” he said cheerfully.
I was in a tremble when I next met my employer. It was near our sailing time, and he was in a violent hurry. He threw down a paper on the desk and told Mears it was the list of things he had put by for the last.