"Well, I suppose you are ready to pay those notes, with
the interest."
Frank moved uneasily. "You know I can't," he muttered. "I thought from
your letter, that we might make other arrangements. Amy, you know,
might come.--"
"Oh, cut that out," interrupted Whitley, with an oath; "your esteemed
sister is out of this deal for good." Then, as he lit his cigar, "We
might fix things in another way though, if you only had the nerve."
"How?" asked Frank, eagerly.
"That printer of Udell's has some papers in his possession that I want.
Get them for me and I'll turn over your notes and call it square."
Frank looked at his companion in wonder. "What do you mean?" he said
at last.
"Just what I say. Can't you hear?"
"But how does that tramp happen to have any papers of value to you?"
"That is, most emphatically, none of your business, my friend.
All you have to do is to get them, or--" he paused significantly.
"But will he give them up?"
Whitley looked at him a few minutes in amused contempt, then said,
mockingly, "Oh yes; of course he will be glad to favor us. All you
need to do is to put on your best Sunday School manners and say sweetly:
'Mr. Falkner, Mr. Whitley would like those papers that you have in the
long leather pocket-book tied with a shoe-string.' He'll hand them
over instantly. The only reason I have taken all this trouble to meet
you out here to-night is because I am naturally easily embarrassed and
don't like to ask him for them myself.
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