And before the white men from steamers--the white men that go
back!
Moved by projects deeper and more devious than ours, the Dutchman made
haste to cover up what seemed to have been an overshot. Frankly, he
turned his attention to the outcast.
"By the God, then, my dear Signet, have you considered?"
He knew well enough that Signet had "considered." He could see as well
as I that Signet was a changed man. But he must "pile it on."
"There, my dear sir, you have it. That 'hunch!' That 'sure fire!' Do you
think I do not know that New York of yours? Such a dance as that! You
must believe me. If you were but a man of energy, now--" With the utmost
deliberation he launched upon a tirade of abuse. "But, no, you are not a
man of energy, not a man to take things in your hands. The obstacles are
too big. Those three husbands! You might even take that woman, that
lovely, royal dancing woman--you, my dear sir, a common street snipe.
What would a woman like that, with that novel, impassioned, barbaric,
foreign dance, be worth to a man on your Broadway? Eh? But obstacles!
Obstacles! You have her not on Broadway. It is too many thousand miles,
and you have no money. But see, if you were a man to grasp things, a man
to 'hit the nail in the head,' to 'boost,' to 'go big'--then would not a
man like me, who turns everything to gold--would he not say to you
quickly enough, 'See here, my dear sir, but let me put so much money
into the undertaking myself?'"
Under the explosions of cigar smoke, Signet continued to hold the trader
with his eyes; seemed to consume him with the fixed, dry fire of his
gaze.
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