Gallagher said nothing, but laughed.
The Oriental cook came toddling in softly in a moment or two.
“You send flo me, Mister Nevens?” asked the cook, meekly.
“Great act, eh, Gallagher?” queried Cowboy, laughing, then to the cook he said, “It’s o.k., Wan, to be yourself. Gallagher here is one of us.”
“That’s swell!” said the Oriental in plain American slang. “You sure hooked up with the right outfit when you signed on with—The Amalgamated Service Corporation of America!”
“Some name!” Gallagher said. “Of course it ain’t a real one!”
“No?” remarked Cowboy. “Take a look at that!”
He handed Mr. Sandborn some stationery with raised, fancy printed headings. The name was there, in full, with, “Raymond Nevens, President” in modest letters!
“Official stationery and all, Gallagher! That’s the way we do things! Like to see the thing worked?” he asked, his eyes glinting.
“Sure, go ahead, Cowboy.”