... Now, Mr. Curtis, what kind of a course would
you foller if that paper we been talkin' about was to fall into the
hands of a feller that felt like I do about makin' money?"
"What do you mean?" Farley demanded, moving forward eagerly in his
chair.
"Hain't good at guessin', be you?"
"That paper doesn't worry me," said Farley. "Calc'lated on havin' it
before you took the train to-night, eh?"
Farley scowled.
"Uh-huh!... Wa-al, I wasn't seein' sich a chance to make a dollar slip
by. The way you was figgerin' on gittin' that paper, Mr. Curtis, won't
work. I know. Uh-huh! I know, because I got ahead of you. I got that
paper myself.... And we kin deal if I kin be made to feel safe.... Most
things leaks out through wimmin.... Hain't mixin' any wimmin into this,
be you?"
"No."
"Um!... How about Sairy Pound?"
Curtis shrugged his shoulders.
"Calc'latin' on takin' her away with you to-night?"
"Not now," said Farley.
"Seein's how you can't use her to git this paper for you, eh? That it?"
"Yes."
"Calc'lated on marryin' her, didn't you?"
"Fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Curtis, harshly.
"Understand me, I hain't takin' chances.
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