“Much?”
“Yes, much inferior.”
“But in your opinion the limit is worth the figure?”
“I would undertake to make money out of it; it is good value.”
The colonel chewed hard for a minute, then turning to Mr. St. Clair, he said: “Wall, Mr. St. Clair, I'll give you one hundred thousand for your limit; but by the great Sam, I'd give twice the sum for your manager, if he's for sale! He's a man!” The emphasis on the he was ever so slight, but it was enough. Mr. St. Clair bowed, and sinking down into his chair, busied himself with his papers.
“Wall,” said the colonel, “that's settled; and that reminds me,” he added, pulling out his flask, “good luck to the Bass River Limits!”
He handed the flask to Mr. St. Clair, who eagerly seized it and took a long drink.
“Goes good sometimes,” said the colonel, innocently. “Wall, here's lookin' at you,” he continued, bowing toward Ranald; “and by the great Sam, you suit me well! If you ever feel like a change of air, indicate the same to Colonel Thorp.”
“Ah, Colonel,” said Mr. St. Clair, who had recovered his easy, pleasant manner, “we can sell limits but not men.”
“No, by the great Sammy,” replied the colonel, using the more emphatic form of his oath, “ner buy 'em! Wall,” he added, “when you have the papers ready, let me know. Good day!”