The man laughed.
“I used to be runnin’ whisky.” Then he chuckled softly. “Y’see, that chu’ch has got a hold on me. I’m feelin’ that pious I can’t bear the thought of runnin’ whisky—an’ I can’t bear the thought of—other folk runnin’ it. No, I’m quittin’ that bizness. I’m jest goin’ in fer straight buyin’ and sellin’—inside the law.”
Fyles was watching the man closely in the dim night light. He knew exactly what the man was there for now. Furthermore he knew precisely how to deal with him. He was weighing in his mind the extent to which he could trust him. His detestation of the race increased, while yet every nerve was alert to miss no chance.
“Straight buying and selling is good when you’ve found a buyer, and got—something to sell,” he said.
The man shrugged.
“I sure got something to sell, an’ I guess you ought to be the buyer.”
Fyles nodded.
“I mostly buy—what I need. What’s your line?”
Again the man laughed. His uneasiness had passed. He felt they understood each other.
“Mostly hot air,” he said carelessly.