So that was the explanation!...
After his paroxysm had subsided and he felt able to control his facial muscles, Duncan emerged, suave and solemn. Roland had disappeared with Blinky, and Burnham was alone.
"Anything you wish, sir?" asked Nat.
"Only to see Mr. Graham."
"He's out just at present, but I think he'll be back in a moment or so. Will you wait? You'll find that chair comfortable, I think."
"Believe I will," said Burnham with an air. He seated himself. "I can't wait long, though," he amended.
"Yes, sir. And if you'll excuse me——?"
Burnham's hand dismissed him with a tolerant wave. "Go right on about your business," he said with supreme condescension.
And Duncan returned to his work in the backyard. It wasn't long before he found occasion to go back to the store, and by that time old Sam was there in conversation with Burnham. Neither noticed Nat as he entered, and to begin with he paid them little heed, being occupied with his task of depositing an armful of bottles without mishap and then placing them on the shelves. The hum of their voices from the other side of the counter struck an indifferent ear while he busied himself, but presently a word or phrase caught his interest, and he found himself listening, at first casually, then with waxing attention.
"That's part of my business," he heard Burnham say in his sleek, oleaginous accents. "Sometimes I pick up an odd no-'count contraption that makes me a bit of money, and more times I'm stung and lose on it. It's all a gamble, of course, and I'm that way—like to take a gambling chance on anything that strikes my fancy—like that burner of yours."