6
THK BATTALION ’
sums into cotton mills on the Blackwater near Hammersville.
These had been successful, and the plant—to use the techni
cal term—called loudly for enlargement. At any time of
night it was pleasant to hear news of money for this enterprise.
Mr. Lamb (for that was the man’s name) offered very
plausible excuses for his late and sudden arrival on the
scene. His references were eminently satisfactory; and I
was soon discussing business with him eagerly, and smoking
one of his cigars. He had declined mine, and pressed his
upon me as the choicest of Havanas. Thev were certainly
of fine flavor; but the one I smoked somehow affected my
nerves so powerfully that I slept not a wink that night.
“Talk not to me of time nor of interest,” said he, when
we came down to particulars; ‘T wish to put my money in
as a partner—a sleeping partner.”
At this stage of the conversation I looked at Olsen. To
my surprise, he was the picture of terror. His face was
hidden from Mr. Lamb; but he was so situated that he could
look into the Hebrew’s eyes, and his gaze had become a fixed
stare. He had the look of one fascinated. Yet he still kept
his wits about him, tor he whispered to me:
“Do not accept that offer. Put him off—for Qod’s sake
put him off, and let us at least have daylight to confer with
him in.”
The horror of a situation often does not appeal to one
until afterwards. Surprised as I was at Olsen’s manner, I