"Never mind what we are!" Curtis said savagely. "We know what you
are--and that's where the rub comes in. Now what are you going to pay
us to hold our tongues?"

"Pay you!" Lemon hissed. "Why, damn you--nothing. We're not bankers.
All we've got to do is clear out and try somewhere else."

"That might not be so easy as you imagine," Hamar interposed. "We
would make it our business to have a scene first. Why not come to
terms? We'll not be over exorbitant--and consider the convenience of
not having to shift your quarters."

"Well, of all the blooming frousts I've struck, none beats this,"
Lemon said. "Fancy being pipped by a couple of suckers like these.
Farmers, indeed! Why don't you call yourselves parsons? How much do
you want?"

After a prolonged haggling, Hamar and Curtis agreed to take fifty
dollars; and, considering their penniless condition, they were by no
means dissatisfied with their bargain.

They were now ready to go, and looking round for Kelson, found him
engaged in a desperate _tête-à-tête_ with the young lady at the bar,
who, despite her avowed lack of faith in mankind, counted half the
room her friends. She promised Kelson that she would meet him at eight
o'clock that evening; but as both she and he were quite used to making
such promises and subsequently forgetting all about them, their
rencontre resulted in only one thing, namely, in furnishing the three
allies with the nucleus of the big fortune they intended making.