We had not been there many minutes when the cotton-broker came in. His countenance betokens success.
"Well?" inquired Sawyer.
"I've bought it—every bale."
"From whom?"
"From a Mississippi planter, by name Nathaniel Bradley."
"Cheap?" jokingly inquired the lawyer.
"So cheap that I wish it was a bona-fide purchase. I found Mr. Bradley by no means exacting as to price. He closed with my first bid. I'm to meet him at the St. Charles to-morrow, and pay down the cash. Meanwhile the cotton is being sent to the Empire Press subject to my orders, on its being paid for. I suppose you have no objection to that, Mr. Woodley?"
"Not the slightest," replied the Tennessee planter; "any press so long as I can recover it."
"Now, gentlemen," said Sawyer, "I want you all to go with me to the alderman's office; but let us scatter, and march two, two and one. Five such formidable people in the streets together might look as if we intended storming the municipality. Cheetham, you know the place; take Mr. Henry Woodley. And you, sir," continued the lawyer, addressing himself to me, "have not forgotten it. May I request you to become the guide of your friend Walter? As for myself you will find me at the fountain of justice."
We started from the lawyer's office, going as directed; and soon after returned to it armed with the authority we had sought.