"I'm no good at figures, Mr. Weeks."
"And rubber! THERE'S the chance for a man with capital. Rubber!"
"I will—I mean, is that so?"
"Ever see any rubber-trees?"
"Only in Brooklyn."
"I mean wild rubber. This country is full of it; the natives bring it in. All you have to do is buy timber land—you can get it for a song—plant your rubber-seed, and let 'er go, Gallagher! In ten years you go back, cut off your timber, sell it for enough to make you rich, and there is your rubber—velvet!" he concluded, triumphantly.
"Rubber velvet?"
"Yes. It's 'velvet'—all clear. You can't lose. My boy, there's a thousand ways to get rich down here, and I know 'em all. What I need is capital. If I had your father's backing—Say! It's a mighty good thing you came to see me. I can do your old man a lot of good. I'm conservative, I am, and what he needs is a good, conservative man to manage his investments. Why, talk about quick money"—the speaker thrust forth a finger that looked like a peeled banana—"I've got a gold-mine—"
"Not a bit like it." Kirk shook his head. "They don't behave."
"This one will. It's an old Spanish mine and hasn't been worked for three centuries. It's rich, RICH! I'll take you in as my partner, and we'll get your father to open it up. What do you say? If he doesn't like that, we'll get him a street-railway franchise; I'm close to the government, and there isn't a steel rail in any city of the republic. I know all the Spiggoty politicians."