“I see.”
McLagan had removed himself from the desk. He still held the bottle with its sample of gold-dust in his hand.
Victor stood up and nodded comprehensively.
“That’s all right, boy,” he said. “If it’s any use, keep that stuff. I’m shipping a mighty big dope of it away by next mail. You’d be astonished if you knew how much. Say, how’s that wreck down your way making out? The folks are all guessing about it. A lumber ship, ain’t it? Any news of the owners yet?”
“Not yet,” McLagan replied. “Guess the seas’ll break her to pieces in a while. Say, Victor, I’m mighty obliged for our talk—and this.” He held up the bottle and then set it in an inner pocket. Then he thrust out a hand in farewell. “Guess I won’t see you for quite awhile. When I do I’ll have big news concerning oil for you. Are you looking to get in?”
“Always.” The banker gripped the outstretched hand.
“Right. I’ll do the best I know for you when the time comes. Thanks.”
McLagan passed out on to the sidewalk again. Just for a moment he stood deeply considering, then he turned away and moved off in the direction where the best dwelling-houses stood something apart from the collection of hovels which made up by far the greater proportion of the city’s home residences.