TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.
OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE
WRECKED BRIG "FLYING SCUD"
APPLYING,
PERSONALLY OR BY LETTER,
AT THE OFFICE OF JAMES PINKERTON, MONTANA BLOCK,
BEFORE NOON TO-MORROW, TUESDAY, 12TH,
WILL RECEIVE
TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.
“This is your idea, Pinkerton!” I cried.
“Yes. They've lost no time; I'll say that for them—not like the Fraud,” said he. “But mind you, Loudon, that's not half of it. The cream of the idea's here: we know our man's sick; well, a copy of that has been mailed to every hospital, every doctor, and every drug-store in San Francisco.”
Of course, from the nature of our business, Pinkerton could do a thing of the kind at a figure extremely reduced; for all that, I was appalled at the extravagance, and said so.
“What matter a few dollars now?” he replied sadly. “It's in three months that the pull comes, Loudon.”
We walked on again in silence, not without a shiver. Even at the 'Poodle Dog' we took our food with small appetite and less speech; and it was not until he was warmed with a third glass of champagne that Pinkerton cleared his throat and looked upon me with a deprecating eye.
“Loudon,” said he, “there was a subject you didn't wish to be referred to. I only want to do so indirectly. It wasn't”—he faltered—“it wasn't because you were dissatisfied with me?” he concluded, with a quaver.
