"It's got to be raised," said he, white as a sheet. "It'll be a hell of
a strain, Loudon. The credit's good for it, I think; but I shall have to
get around. Write me a cheque for your stuff. Meet me at the Occidental
in an hour."
I wrote my cheque at a desk, and I declare I could never have recognised
my signature. Jim was gone in a moment; Trent had vanished even earlier;
only Bellairs remained, exchanging insults with the auctioneer; and,
behold! as I pushed my way out of the exchange, who should run full tilt
into my arms but the messenger boy!
It was by so near a margin that we became the owners of the _Flying
Scud_.
FOOTNOTE:
[3] A low lawyer.
CHAPTER X
IN WHICH THE CREW VANISH
At the door of the exchange I found myself alongside of the short
middle-aged gentleman who had made an appearance, so vigorous and so
brief, in the great battle.
"Congratulate you, Mr. Dodd," he said. "You and your friend stuck to
your guns nobly."
"No thanks to you, sir," I replied, "running us up a thousand at a time,
and tempting all the speculators in San Francisco to come and have a
try."
"O, that was temporary insanity," said he; "and I thank the higher
powers I am still a free man. Walking this way, Mr. Dodd? I'll walk
along with you. It's pleasant for an old fogey like myself to see the
young bloods in the ring; I've done some pretty wild gambles in my time
in this very city, when it was a smaller place and I was a younger man.
Yes, I know you, Mr. Dodd. By sight, I may say I know you extremely
well, you and your followers, the fellows in the kilts, eh? Pardon me.
But I have the misfortune to own a little box on the Saucelito shore.
I'll be glad to see you there any Sunday--without the fellows in kilts,
you know; and I can give you a bottle of wine, and show you the best
collection of Arctic voyages in the States. Morgan is my name--Judge
Morgan--a Welshman and a forty-niner."
"O, if you're a pioneer," cried I, "come to me, and I'll provide you
with an axe."
"You'll want your axes for yourself, I fancy," he returned, with one of
his quick looks. "Unless you have private knowledge, there will be a
good deal of rather violent wrecking to do before you find that--opium,
do you call it?"
"Well, it's either opium, or we are stark staring mad," I replied. "But
I assure you we have no private information. We went in (as I suppose
you did yourself) on observation."
"An observer, sir?" inquired the judge.
"I may say it is my trade--or, rather, was," said I.
"Well now, and what did you think of Bellairs?" he asked.
"Very little indeed," said I.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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