"But they're over there in the basket."
Hickey, with a cry of joy, flung himself on them, counted them and thrust them into his pocket.
"Smith," he said, condescendingly, "you've got certain qualities, I'll admit, but what you need is a manager!"
"Why, what are you thinking of?" said Smith, who began to have a suspicion of Hickey's plan.
"I suppose you would expose your honourable scars," said Hickey, disdainfully, "to any one who asks to see them?"
"Why not?"
"Just out of friendliness?"
"Yes."
"Smith, you are a nincompoop! Why, my boy, there's money in it—big money. Never thought of that, eh?"
"How so?"