The rest of the group had drifted away, in obedience, Banneker suspected, to some indication given by Masters which he had not perceived.
“You won’t be a reporter long. Opportunities will open out for a young fellow of your kind.”
“What sort of opportunities?” inquired Banneker curiously.
“Wall Street, for example.”
“I don’t think I’d like the game. Writing is my line. I’m going to stick to it.”
“You’re a fool,” barked Masters.
“That is a word I don’t take from anybody,” stated Banneker.
“You don’t take? Who the—” The raucous snarl broke into laughter, as the other leaned abruptly forward. “Banneker,” he said, “have you got me covered?”
Banneker laughed, too. Despite his brutal assumption of autocracy, it was impossible not to like this man. “No,” he answered. “I didn’t expect to be held up here. So I left my gun.”
“You did a job on that pier,” affirmed the other. “But you’re a fool just the same—if you’ll take it with a smile.”