“Want more capital to put into your fillum concern?” demanded Skidder.
Puma, innocently perplexed, asked mutely for an explanation out of his magnificent dark eyes.
“I got money,” asserted Skidder.
Puma’s dazzling smile congratulated him upon the accumulation of a fabulous fortune.
“I had you looked up,” continued Skidder. “It listened good. And––I got money, too. And I got that property in my vest pocket. See. And there’s a certain busted fillum corporation can be bought for a postage stamp––all ’ncorporated ’n everything. You get me?”
No; Mr. Puma, who was all art and heart, could not comprehend what Mr. Skidder was driving at.
“This here busted fillum company is called the Super-Picture Fillums,” said Skidder. “What’s the matter with you and me buying it? Don’t you ever do a little tradin’?”
Jim rose, utterly disgusted, but immensely amused at himself, and realising, now, how entirely right Sharrow had been in desiring to be rid of this man Skidder, and of Puma and the property in question.
He said, still smiling, but rather grimly: “I see, now, that this is no place for a broker who lives by his commissions.” And he bade them adieu with perfect good humour.
“Have a seegar?” inquired Skidder blandly.