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“Well,” said Harman, “that’s news, and what’s the price, may I ask?”

“Five thousand, and five thousand for the trade, ten thousand dollars, the whole sum to be paid on Friday next.”

“Have you a bit of writin’?” asked Harman, who possessed the French peasant’s instincts for stamped paper.

“I’ve got their cheque,” said Davis, “post dated for next Friday, but I’m not bothering about the money, for the ship and cargo, it doesn’t matter a hill of beans to me whether they pay ten thousand dollars or five. I’ve struck a bigger thing than that. What would you say to half a million dollars?”

“I don’t know,” replied the ingenuous Harman. “I only know chaps generally begin to make asses of themselves when they talk about millions of dollars. It’s my opinion no man ever came out of the big end of the horn with the million dollars in his hand he’d gone in to fetch at the little. Most of the million-dollar men I’ve heard of have started as newsies with their toes stickin’ through their boots—but go on, what was you sayin’?”