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Updated: May 29, 2025
Abrahamson, he remembered, had put it into Braceway's head, against Braceway's own desire, that the man with the gold tooth and Withers resembled each other. But nobody believed that. It would be futile to consider it. The chief, as if reading his thoughts, gave more information: "Abrahamson, the loan-shark, came to my office yesterday; wanted to know where he could reach Braceway by wire.
And here's this loan-shark of a Ffayle, trying to claw my lands away from me, and Rovard Grauffis, the fetchdog of my uncle who won't lift a finger to save his kinsman from ruin, and this foreigner Harkaman who's swindled me out of command of the Enterprise. You're all plotting against me " "Sir Nevil," Grauffis said, "you can see that Lord Dunnan's not himself.
I know all about him." "That's funny, isn't it?" "What's funny?" "That he didn't go to a pawnshop." "Keep your shirt on," laughed Golson. "The day's not over yet." "No doubt about that. What about Corning, the loan-shark in Virginia?" "I've got a man over there, just as you asked. Shall I keep him on?" "Sure!" snapped Braceway.
"The chief gave me your message, and I went back to keep a look on Eidstein's place. I didn't think he'd show there again, but he did at four o'clock and stayed there almost half an hour. After that, he went to the station, me right after him. We both caught the five o'clock for Washington." "Did you talk with Eidstein?" "No, sir; had no orders. But he's no loan-shark, and no fence.
He had been called many things loan-shark, skinflint, tightwad, pussyfoot but he had never before been called a flirt. "He is wicked, isn't he, Mrs. Dawson? Don't you have to lock him up?" "Oh no, but maybe I better," attempted Mrs. Dawson, a tint on her pallid face. For fifteen minutes Carol kept it up.
If a newspaper preaches the harm in these habits, it shouldn't accept money for exploiting them. Look further. What of the loan-shark offers, and the blue-sky stock propositions, and the damnable promises of the consumption and cancer quacks? You can't turn a page of The Patriot without stumbling on them. There's a smell of death about that money."
"You, Captain Doane, can't raise another penny on your properties. My land still grows the wheat that brings the ready. You, Simon Nishikanta, won't put up another penny yet your loan-shark offices are doing business at the same old stands at God knows what per cent. to drunken sailors. And you hang the expedition up here in this hole-in-the- wall waiting for my agent to cable more wheat-money.
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