"Yes," ejaculated Emerson, undecided whether to be pleased or angered at the fellow's presence. "Which is your car?"
"This one—same as yours. I've got the drawing-room."
"What are you going to do in Chicago?"
"Oh, I ain't fully decided yet, but I might do a little promoting.
Seattle is too full of Alaskan snares."
Emerson reflected for a moment before remarking: "I dare say you will tangle me up in some new enterprise that will land us both in jail, so for my own protection I'll tell you what I'll do. I have noticed that you are a good salesman, and if you will take up something legitimate—"
"Legitimate!" Fraser interrupted, with indignation. "Why, all my schemes are legitimate. Anybody can examine them. If he don't like them, he needn't go in. If he weakens on one proposition, I'll get something that suits him better. You've got me wrong."
"If you want to handle something honest, I'll let you place some of this cannery stock on a commission."
"I don't see nothing attractive in that when I can sell stock of my own and keep all the money. Maybe I'll organize a cannery company of my own in Chicago—"
"If you do—" Boyd exploded.
"Very well! Don't get sore. I only just suggested the possibility. If that is your graft, I'll think up something better."