“Because Mr. Crocker would see to it, Stick. You don’t really believe that he has any idea of keeping both businesses going?”
“What’s Crocker got to do with it?” asked Stick.
“A whole lot if he owned your interest.”
“But he wouldn’t.” Stick looked genuinely puzzled. “This fellow Throgmorton—”
“Stick,” interrupted Russell, “did Mr. Crocker stop in at the store a week ago last Saturday?”
“What? Why, yes, he did. I didn’t say anything about it because—well, he didn’t want me to, and—Oh, well, I know I ought to have told you, but he said he thought he might find some one who would buy my interest, and that you’d better not know about it until it was settled. It was sort of low-down, Rus, and I’m sorry.”
“Crocker didn’t offer to buy himself, then?”
“Crocker? No, he said he wouldn’t take it at any price. Of course I wouldn’t have sold to him, anyway.”
“Then you really thought that Throgmorton wanted your interest for himself?”
Stick stared. “Of course! Didn’t he? Look here, you don’t mean—”