Nat laughed outright. "Can you beat that? ... But what is the offer?"
"Fifty thousand cash and ten thousand shares of preferred stock—hundred dollars par."
"What's that worth?"
"At the market rate when I left town, seventy-eight." Kellogg waited a moment. "Well, what do you say?"
"Say? Great Caesar's Ghost! What is there to say? Wire 'em an acceptance before they get their second wind.... You don't know how good this makes me feel, Harry; I can't thank you enough for what you've done. This'll square me with Graham to some extent, and I can clear out——"
"No, you can't, Mr. Smarty! You ain't been 'cute enough."
Both men, startled by the interruption, wheeled round to discover Roland Barnette dancing with excitement in the doorway, the while he beckoned frantically to an invisible party without. "Come on!" he shouted. "Here he is!"
"What's eating you, Roly-Poly?" inquired
Nat, too happy for the money to cherish animosity even toward his one-time rival.
"You'll find out soon enough," snarled Roland. "Mr. Lockwood's got something to say to you, I guess."