“Don't be pessimistic, Cappy. Don't! It doesn't become you, and I don't believe a word you're telling me. You're still the old he-fox of the world; and I've come to you for help on a deal that's going to mean a whole lot of money to both of us if we can only put it through.”
“I'm sorry, Gus, but I'm not interested. As a matter of fact, I've retired.”
“Nonsense! Nonsense! I know where there's a beautiful ten-thousand-ton, net register, steel steamer to be bought for three hundred thousand dollars—”
Cappy Ricks threw out an arm and pressed his hand against Redell's mouth.
“Sh-h-h!” he warned. “Sh-h-h! Hush!”
With the agility of a man half his age Cappy ran to the door, bolted it on the inside and returned to his desk. He was rubbing his hands and his eyes were aglow with interest.
“What are you sh-h-h-ing about?” Redell demanded.
“Matt Peasley and that cowardly Skinner. Not a word of this to them, Gus! Not—a—whisper!” And he winked one eye and twisted up the corner of his mouth knowingly. Mr. Redell nodded his promise and Cappy went on: “Now Gus, my dear young friend, start in at the beginning and tell me everything. I assume, of course, that this is real business and not another of your jokes on the old man. Word of honor, Gus?”
“Word of honor, Cappy.”
“All right; blaze away! Come, come! What have you got to offer?”