"Forgive me, sir, but you have no--no younger man who can arrange this business
with me?"
"I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to----"
"You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches."
The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning against
the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be good enough to
do things.
"Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal," said Torpenhow, critically; "but I'm
afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be careful, Dick;
remember, this isn't the Soudan."
"Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your name
before the world----"
This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant years
lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The memory did not
contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed to enjoy the fruit of
those years.
"I don't know quite what to do with you," began Dick, meditatively. "Of course
you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case you'd
probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides, it's unlucky
just as one"s moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite yourself.
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