"Kinda solemn-lookin' guy, sir." The boy remembered the dollar received on account and the five dollars on the horizon. "Big, straight-standin', honest fellow. From Arizona or Texas, mebbe. Looked good to me."
The financier frowned down at the note in doubt, twisting it in his fingers. A dozen times a week his privacy was assailed by some crazy inventor or crook promoter. He remembered that he had had a letter from some one about this man. Something of strength in the chirography of the note in his hand and something of simple directness in the wording decided him to give an interview.
"Show him in," he said abruptly, and while he waited in the office rated himself for his folly in wasting time.
Underneath bushy brows steel-gray eyes took Dave in shrewdly.
"Well, what is it?" snapped the millionaire.
"The new gusher in the Malapi pool," answered Sanders at once, and his gaze was as steady as that of the big state-builder.
"You represent the parties that own it?"
"Yes."
"And you want?"
"Financial backing to put it on its feet until we can market the product."