"Why, I'll pay you for your trouble. I'll"
But McKinnon's seemingly indignant start brought the older man to a stop.
"You don't suppose I'm going to take money to hold up the company's business?" he demanded.
The stranger raised a thick, red hand protestingiy. McKinnon noticed a scar in the centre of the wide palm. He inappositely wondered if it could be a bullet wound.
"Hold on a minute!" he warned the other, appeasingly. "This isn't a matter o' messenger-boy tips. It's out and out business. You've got to remember they're big things involved in this, and big people, too."
"Why do you want to mix me up in the mess, whether it's big or little?" complained the operator. The other man permitted the protest to go unanswered.
"But can't you tell me what it's worth for you to co-operate with us in this?" he blandly insisted.
"It would be worth my job!" McKinnon cried. The other man, eyeing him closely, could not rid himself of the impression that the operator was acting a part, that he was feigning reluctance for some potentially better bargain yet to be driven.
