“Look here, Mr.—Mr.——”
“Never mind names,” interrupted the other. “‘Mister’ is good enough.”
Jack nodded. “All right,” said he. “Then, Mister, I have one or two things to say. First: Ten thousand dollars is too much.”
“No, it isn’t,” Squeaky promptly contradicted. “Me and my pardner has means of knowing the financial standing of these boys’ fathers, and we have fixed upon that amount. We’re not going to ’bate as much as a ten-cent shinplaster, so you needn’t waste your breath on that point.”
Jack nodded again. “Well,” said he, “then there’s another point. Ten days is much too short a time.”
“No, it isn’t,” interposed Squeaky, firmly.
“Yes, it is,” Jack repeated, with equal firmness. “Just consider a minute. It will take me one long day to get to Bozeman; if my horse should fall lame—he has no shoes—it would take two. It might take me two to get back. There are four days out of my ten. Then the boys’ parents may not be at home; they may be travelling on the continent of Europe, and it may take them two or three days to get home; besides which, ten thousand dollars is a very considerable sum, and it may take them several days to raise it.”
I thought Squeaky seemed to be impressed; and I thought, too, how clever Jack was to think of all this when his thinking faculties had just received such a shaking-up. But Jack had not finished yet; he had reserved his most telling argument for the last.
“There’s one thing more,” he went on. “You want this money in cash, I suppose. Well, do you think the town of Bozeman could get together ten thousand dollars on the spur of the moment? Of course it can’t. The money will probably have to come up from Salt Lake City by stage, and that, as you know, will take four or five days itself. Your ten days’ limit is absurd; you’ll beat yourself if you stick to that. You ought to make it a month.”
I half expected that Squeaky would be offended at Jack’s emphatic manner of speech, but I was mistaken.