"You remember," he began, skillfully rotating the mutilated end of a cigar between his teeth, "my telling you at the club the kind of business you’d be suited for?"
"A bond salesman or a dog fancier," I answered promptly.
"Well, I’m thinking of starting something," he announced solemnly.
"None of that—" he grinned, "I want you to go in with me."
I gazed at him in speechless astonishment.
"Have I said a bellyful?" he demanded, removing his vile cigar.
"Ha! That’s the way I am," he laughed. "Ideas come to me and I act upon them."
"But—what have I done—" I began, stammering, "to deserve this—"
"You’re the man for my money," he erupted boisterously, "I sometimes make a mistake in picking a horse, but never in picking a man, Ranny, my boy, never!"
When Henry the Fowler was tranquilly snaring finches and news was suddenly brought him that he had been elected Emperor, I doubt whether he had felt more completely graveled than did I at that moment. But to be serious with Fred Salmon was just then beyond me.
"You have come to the right man, this time, Fred," I gave him back a parody of his own tone, "not a doubt of it!"
"You bet I have, old Hoss," he cried, "don’t I know it?"
"That is," I went on, "if fitness, training, experience, capacity, predilection and abundance of capital are factors, you have selected the one man—"
"Yah!" broke in Fred, "I know all about that. Don’t try the sarcastic with me, old boy. I know all you can say and a darn sight more. But I told you it’s the cut of your mug I want. What good is the best trained two-year old if he’s a hammer-head? It’s with a man as with a horse. You’ve got the right look to you—and that’s what counts!"
The mockery of my thanks and all further attempts at clumsy satire were utterly ignored by Fred.
"You’re comfortably fixed, I know," he said, ruminatively scanning my books, which curiously suggest wealth to every one. "But dash it all, man, you must want more money for something or other—more books, maybe. Everybody wants more something. I know," he ran on, "it isn’t every fellah makes up his mind on the dot the way I do. You’ve got to turn it over in your so-called bean, I suppose. All right. But remember—I don’t take no for answer."