Arnold Rivers's business methods.

"How much does Mr. Rivers want for this?" he asked, handing the revolver
to young Gillis.

The clerk mentally decoded the three prices and vacillated for a moment
over them. He had already appraised Rand, from his twenty-dollar Stetson
past his Burberry trench coat to his English hand-sewn shoes, and placed
him in the pay-dirt bracket; however, from some remarks Rand had let
drop, he decided that this customer knew pistols, and probably knew
values.

"Why, that is sixty dollars, Mr. Rand," he said, with the air of one
conferring a benefaction. Maybe he was, at that, Rand decided; prices had
jumped like the very devil since the war.

"I'll take it." He dug out his billfold and extracted three twenties.
"Nice clean condition; clean it up yourself?"

"Why, no. Mr. Rivers got it like this. As I said, it's supposed to have
been a family heirloom, but from the way it's been cared for, I would
have thought it had been in a collection," the clerk replied. "Shall I
wrap it for you?"

"Yes, if you please." Rand followed him to the rear, laying aside his
coat and hat. Gillis got some heavy paper out of a closet and packaged
it, then hunted through a card-file in the top drawer of the desk, until
he found the card he wanted. He made a few notes on it, and was still
holding it and the sixty dollars when he rejoined Rand by the fire.