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“Have you figured at all on the proposition, Cap’n?” inquired Hardenberg.

“There’s risk in it, Joe; big risk,” declared the President nervously. “But I’d only ask fifteen per cent. ”

“Youhaveworked out the scheme, then. ”

“Well—ah—y’see, there’s the risk, and—ah—” Suddenly Ryder leaned forward, his watery blue eyes glinting: “Boys, it’s ajewel. It’s just your kind. I’d a-sent for you, to try on this very scheme, if you hadn’t shown up. You kin have theBertha Millner—I’ve a year’s charter o’ her from Wilbur—and I’ll only ask you fifteen per cent. of thenetprofits—net, mind you. ”

“I ain’t buyin’ no dead horse, Cap’n,” returned Hardenberg, “but I’ll say this: we pay no fifteen per cent. ”

“Banks and the Ruggles were daft to try it and give me twenty-five. ”

“An’ where would Banks land the scheme? I know him. You put him on that German cipher-code job down Honolulu way, an’ it cost you about a thousand before you could pull out. We’ll give you seven an’ a half. ”

“Ten,” declared Ryder, “ten, Joe, at the very least. Why, how much do you suppose just the stores would cost me? And Point Barrow—why, Joe, that’s right up in the Arctic. I got to run the risk o’ you getting theBerthasmashed in the ice. ”

“What dowerisk?” retorted Hardenberg; and it was the monosyllabic Strokher who gave the answer:

“Chokee, by Jove!”

“Ten is fair. It’s ten or nothing,” answered Hardenberg.

“Gross, then, Joe. Ten on the gross—or I give the job to the Ruggles and Banks. ”

“Who’s your bloomin’ agent?” put in Ally Bazan.

“Nickerson. I sent him with Peterson on thatMary Archer wreck scheme. An’ you know what Peterson says of him—didn’t give him no trouble at all. One o’ my best men, boys. ”

“There have been,” observed Strokher stolidly, “certain stories told about Nickerson. Not thatIwish to seem suspicious, but I put it to you as man to man. ”

“Ay,” exclaimed Ally Bazan. “He was fair nutty once, they tell me. Threw some kind o’ bally fit an’ come aout all skew-jee’d in his mind. Forgot his nyme an’ all. I s’y, how abaout him, anyw’y?”

“Boys,” said Ryder, “I’ll tell you. Nickerson—yes, I know the yarns about him. It was this way—y’see, I ain’t keeping anything from you, boys. Two years ago he was a Methody preacher in Santa Clara. Well, he was what they call a revivalist, and he was holding forth one blazin’ hot day out in the sun when all to once he goes down,flat,an’ don’t come round for the better part o’ two days. When he wakes up he’s another person;he’d forgot his name, forgot his job, forgot the whole blamed shooting-match. And he ain’t never remembered them since. The doctors have names for that kind o’ thing. It seems it does happen now and again. Well, he turned to an’ began sailoring first off—soon as the hospitals and medicos were done with him—an’ him not having any friends as you might say, he was let go his own gait. He got to be third mate of some kind o’ dough-dish down Mexico way; and then I got hold o’ him an’ took him into the Comp’ny. He’s been with me ever since. He ain’t got the faintest kind o’ recollection o’ his Methody days, an’ believes he’s always been a sailorman. Well, that’shis business, ain’t it? If he takes my orders an’ walks chalk, what do I care about his Methody game? There, boys, is the origin, history and development of Slick Dick
Nickerson. If you take up this sea-otter deal and go to Point Barrow, naturally Nick has got to go as owner’s agent and representative of the Comp’ny. But I couldn’t send a easier fellow to get along with. Honest, now, I couldn’t. Boys, you think over the proposition between now and tomorrow an’ then come around and let me know. ”