burrow around for underground contracts and then run squealing to Washington like a stuck pig every time a peon slaps a banana-car with a machete! No, sir, that's my market, and I'm going to hold it. I'm going to climb onto that Guariqui gang's pay-car and hang the completo sign over its dashboard!"
"But isn't this man De Brigard getting there ahead of you?" ventured McKinnon, watching for the effect of that softly exploratory probe.
"I guess I'll be in time for a little of the fun," answered Ganley, guardedly. The other was compelled to acknowledge there was something primordially massive about this uncouth Caribbean king-maker. There was something titanic and persuasive about this self-confessed filibuster of petty republics. His very audacity was a ponderable asset. The sheer force of the man could still appeal to some substratum of romance in the other's none too emotional state of mind.
Some trace of this feeling must have shown itself in McKinnon's half-smiling glance, for a new confidence crept into the tones of the man so closely watching him.
"I've been in my tight holes," he placidly declared, folding his arms over his great chest. "And I've got out of 'em, every time, just as I'm going to get out of this one!"
