"
"Your note!" Cappy jeered. "Your note! What do I want with your
note! Is it hockable at any bank? Huh! Answer me that."
"You needn't insult me!" Matt growled wrathfully.
"Bah!" Cappy sneered. "You think you're mighty smart, don't you,
Matt? Do you remember what I told you when you declined to go to work
for me and insisted on going into business for yourself? I told you
you'd go bust--and you're going right now. All you'll have left in
thirty days will be the clothes you stand in and the corporation seal
of the Pacific Shipping Company. Ho-ho! Isn't that funny? The idea
of a man's paying thirty thousand dollars for a dinky old corporation
seal worth two and a half!"
Matt Peasley's face went white with suppressed fury.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I seem to remember some such prophecy; also,
some conversation to the effect that I'd be a better business man if I
purchased my business experience with my own money. You said there
were wolves along California Street that would take my roll away from
me so fast it'd surprise me. I must confess, however, that I had no
idea you would lead the pack! However, I didn't come here to argue,
Mr. Ricks--"
"What did you come for? Sympathy?" Cappy queried. "Because, if you
did, you've come to the wrong shop, my boy.
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