“Yes, sir. Johnny’s been away for some time. But, trust me, he’ll be back! He always comes back.”
“Have you much money?”
“Very little.” Pant wondered what the deputy was driving at now. “But we represent a man who is rich,” he added as an afterthought.
“Ah!” the man breathed. “And he is interested, perhaps, in industrial development?”
“He wishes to develop his mahogany interests here. We came here to prove it can be done.”
“You are right. It can be done,” the other said decidedly. “Much more can be done than that. His tract, though very fine,—the very best,—is small. Across the river, far up as you can go, we are rich in forests, mahogany that has scarcely been touched; sapodillas that will yield a million, two million pounds of chicle a year. With chicle at fifty cents a pound at the dock, that should yield a profit.
“Our province needs developing. Our people need the work and the pay that it brings. We have not the capital. We have the forests.
“In a word,”—the man leaned forward, his eyes sparkling eagerly, “in a word, if you two boys can find us a man with money who is as honest as you, and who has at heart the good of all people, as you have, it will be possible for him to secure in Quintanaroo concessions which in time will bring him as much gold as Cortez hoped to win when he invaded Mexico. The question is: have you the man?”
For a moment Pant sat there silent, like one in a trance. So sudden was this proposal, so vast the possibilities, that his mind refused to grasp it.
“I—I think we can find the man,” he stammered at last. “You—you will give us time?”