The agent says to me:
"He has a scheme for trading in the South Pacific. He's a lunatic,
and he's paid for six months. Send me news when you get a chance, and
come back by Honolulu for directions. He's a lunatic," he says, "and
you'd better lose him somewhere and get a commission on the time
saved."
Then he hurried off the way you'd think he was a man with energy,
instead of one that would sit still and let the weeds grow in his
hair. But Craney went on buying chandeliers and chess-boards and
clocks and women's things, such as dresses and ostrich-feathers
hats, and baby carriages, and parasols, and an allotment of assorted
dinner-bells, and one side of a drug store. I don't know all there
was in his cases, only I judged there wasn't any monotony. I says:
"Maybe now you might be done."
He came aboard and looked thoughtful. Then he felt in his pocket and
pulled out a bunch of knitting needles, and looked thoughtful.
"Well," he says. "I rather wanted to look up some front porches,
ready made, with door-knockers, but I didn't get to it. It's just as
well."
We dropped out of the Gate with the tide on a Saturday night, and
stood away to the southwest.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129