"Have I said a bellyful?" he demanded, removing his vile cigar.
"A--yes," I gasped, "and more."
"Ha! That's the way I am," he laughed. "Ideas come to me and I act
upon them."
"But--what have I done--" I began, stammering, "to deserve this--"
"You're the man for my money," he erupted boisterously, "I sometimes
make a mistake in picking a horse, but never in picking a man, Ranny, my
boy, never!"
When Henry the Fowler was tranquilly snaring finches and news was
suddenly brought him that he had been elected Emperor, I doubt whether
he had felt more completely graveled than did I at that moment. But to
be serious with Fred Salmon was just then beyond me.
"You have come to the right man, this time, Fred," I gave him back a
parody of his own tone, "not a doubt of it!"
"You bet I have, old Hoss," he cried, "don't I know it?"
"That is," I went on, "if fitness, training, experience, capacity,
predilection and abundance of capital are factors, you have selected the
one man--"
"Yah!" broke in Fred, "I know all about that. Don't try the sarcastic
with me, old boy. I know all you can say and a darn sight more. But I
told you it's the cut of your mug I want. What good is the best trained
two-year old if he's a hammer-head? It's with a man as with a horse.
You've got the right look to you--and that's what counts!"
The mockery of my thanks and all further attempts at clumsy satire were
utterly ignored by Fred.
"You're comfortably fixed, I know," he said, ruminatively scanning my
books, which curiously suggest wealth to every one. "But dash it all,
man, you must want more money for something or other--more books, maybe.
Everybody wants more something. I know," he ran on, "it isn't every
fellah makes up his mind on the dot the way I do. You've got to turn it
over in your so-called bean, I suppose. All right. But remember--I
don't take no for answer."
"With that trifling limitation, I assume, I have a wide liberty of
choice?" I ventured.
"Oh, yes," he grinned. "Outside the fact that you're coming in, you can
go as far as you like. Salmon and Byrd!" he exclaimed suddenly. "How's
that for a firm name? By gosh!--There's genius in it! May have been
that which was driving me to you. I never go wrong. Salmon and
Byrd--Gad! It's so good it scares me!"
"Salmon and Byrd," I repeated after him mechanically. "The _menu_
strikes me as incomplete for a _viveur_ like you. Add a little shrimp
salad--or at least an artichoke."
He grinned but he would none of my flippancy.
"No, no," he wagged his head. "None of that. Don't spoil a fine thing.
It's--what do they call it--sacrilege. A good firm name--it's half the
battle. By George! This has been a day's work for me. I didn't know
it was going to be so rich. We ought to have a dinner on it at the
Knickerbocker--or Claridge's. What d'you say?"
In a flash I saw the vista of Fred's life spread out before me--noise
and laughter, ventripotent bouts with costly dishes in expensive places,
tinkling glasses--the world of money-making which consists as much in
riotous expenditure as in half-jocund half-fanatical getting. It was to
this world that Fred was inviting me.
"There will be supper at six o'clock, if you care to stay," I suggested
mildly.
"No-no, thanks," said Fred reflectively. "I'd like to. But somehow not
to-night. I couldn't. Better come along with me. And we'll work out
details."