Nuggy Polk had closed his eyes, as if on the point of going to sleep.
"Came from Richmond to 'Frisco, an' from 'Frisco here," was the unsteady answer. "'Bout four months ago—came on mail steamer. Going to China—do the country in 'bout six weeks, and then go home again. This don't suit at all. Richmond is good enough for me."
"I suppose you'll have a good deal of work to do in China for your company."
"A little, lieutenant. You see, I don't believe in killing myself with labor." Nuggy Polk tried to laugh, but the effort only ended in a hiccough. "Main object is to find a man named Bartlett, a fellow who owns a little block of stock in our concern."
"Going to buy him out?"
"You've struck the head on the nail—I mean— er—the nail on the nai—no, the nail on the—the head—yes, the head. Don't want Bartlett in the company any more. He'll make too much money if he stays in." And Nuggy Polk gave a chuckle.
"Supposing this Bartlett won't sell out?"
"He's got to, or we'll—er—we'll squeeze him, same as we did the others."
