Good business. . . Of course Captain Harry believes that easily.
Starts chaffing his brother in his jolly way about rolling in
money. George's shirt sticks to his back with perspiration, and he
feels quite angry with the captain. . . The fool, he says to
himself. Rolling in money, indeed! And then he thinks suddenly:
Why not? . . . Because Cloete's notion has got hold of his mind.

"But next day he weakens and says to Cloete . . . Perhaps it would
be best to sell. Couldn't you talk to my brother? and Cloete
explains to him over again for the twentieth time why selling
wouldn't do, anyhow. No! The Sagamore must be tomahawked--as he
would call it; to spare George's feelings, maybe. But every time
he says the word, George shudders. . . I've got a man at hand
competent for the job who will do the trick for five hundred, and
only too pleased at the chance, says Cloete. . . George shuts his
eyes tight at that sort of talk--but at the same time he thinks:
Humbug! There can be no such man. And yet if there was such a man
it would be safe enough--perhaps.

"And Cloete always funny about it. He couldn't talk about anything
without it seeming there was a great joke in it somewhere. . . Now,
says he, I know you are a moral citizen, George. Morality is
mostly funk, and I think you're the funkiest man I ever came across
in my travels. Why, you are afraid to speak to your brother.
Afraid to open your mouth to him with a fortune for us all in
sight. . . George flares up at this: no, he ain't afraid; he will
speak; bangs fist on the desk. And Cloete pats him on the back. .
. We'll be made men presently, he says.

"But the first time George attempts to speak to Captain Harry his