“And I object to having this crowd here,” hotly cried Nace, half rising from his chair.
“This crowd is composed of my nephew, Stanley Malcolm, and his two good friends, Mr. Whitten and Mr. Thomas,” quietly resumed Thaxter. “Now for business. How much are you worth?”
“None of your business!” cried Nace, his heavy face revealing his bewilderment.
“On the contrary it is my business,” smoothly assured Thaxter. “I have an important proposition to make.”
Instantly Nace saw himself investing in the Great Northern and becoming one of its heads. “Why, I guess I could scare up a hundred thousand pretty quick,” he lazily replied.
“I see,” mused Thaxter. “Very well; we’ll have to proceed on that theory. You will give Noisy Charlie, the Indian guide, the sum of ten thousand dollars. You will give a like amount to Abner Whitten. You will divide a third ten thousand between my nephew and Mr. Thomas.”
“Give thirty thousand dollars!” gasped Nace in a dazed voice.
“Yes; no man can say I ever bore down too severely,” returned Thaxter.
