“The story is true, and I think the reason is valid. If you take my advice, you will not talk business with him in the face of his prohibition until his mind is at rest regarding his daughter.”
“Well, I guess I’ll take your advice; it seems to be the only thing I’m going to get out of you. I thought the daughter story was only a yarn to bluff me from coming aboard the yacht.”
“It wasn’t, and furthermore, I don’t think you showed your usual perspicacity in not accepting Mr. Hemster’s intimation that he didn’t want to be bothered at this particular time.”
“Oh, well, as to that,” said Cammerford, confidently, “the old man has been making a monkey of me for some weeks now, and the whole matter might have been settled in as many hours if he had cared to do so. He isn’t going to shake me off so easily as he thinks. I’ll stick to him till he keeps his promise, and don’t you forget it.”
“All right, I’ll endeavour to keep it in mind.”
“You won’t be persuaded to try and lure him on to the straight and narrow path of honesty, Mr. Tremorne?”
“No, I’m not sure that he’s off it. I have always found him treading that path.”
“I see. Well, good-night. When do we reach that outlandish place,—whatever its name is?”
“We ought to arrive at Chemulpo some time to-morrow night.”
“Chemulpo, is it? Well, I wish it was Chicago. So long.”