He took it pretty calmly. In fact, I am not sure that it wasn't something of a relief to his hard head to get down to what he would call “brass tacks”—meaning money, and the traffic in money.
“That's your proposition?” he said.
“That's my proposition.”
“And when do you want an answer?”
I must admit that he surprised me here. “Why,” I replied, “now. On the spot.”
He shook his head.
“No,” said he. “You are asking me to agree to a plan that would change my whole life.”
“For the better!” I interrupted eagerly.
“Perhaps,” said he. “Do you think I have traveled from New York to Peking for the purpose of changing my mind in one minute, because you ask me to?”
He had stiffened up, as he sat there, and was talking, all of a sudden, quite like a responsible business man. Whether this change was merely a momentary outcropping of self-respect, or whether there was man enough in him to bring that drink-fuddled brain so swiftly under control, I could not imagine.