A dark flush mounted to Julian’s forehead, and the avidity in his eyes developed.
“It’s a large order, though,” he said. “I don’t quite see where I come in at that rate, after all.”
Loring leant back in his chair and looked him full in the face.
“You can please yourself, of course,” he said. “Take it or leave it. You will come in to the tune of something like thirty thousand. If you see your way to trebling your capital by any other means, do so. Lots of fellows will be glad to take your place with us.”
Julian’s eyes gleamed greedily, and he wavered obviously.
“Those are your final terms?” he said.
“Our final terms,” said Loring concisely, looking at Ramsay, who nodded nonchalantly in confirmation of the words.
A silence ensued. Julian sat staring down at the table, his brows knit, evidently in close thought. At last he glanced up suddenly at the two men who had been waiting carelessly for his decision.
“I call it rather rough,” he said brusquely; “but—all right. If the thing looks all right when you’ve trotted it out, I accept.”
He passed on instantly, with a brief, telling question, to the inner working of the scheme.