Part 11 (1/2)
It told of a ditch digger that had recently been enlarged from the inventor's model, and which, at the first trial, was proving a decided success in moving earth more rapidly than any previously invented.
With only his model to prove his claims, the inventor had managed to sell all the stock; and from the very beginning the operations would be carried out by a closed corporation. The question before the directors was whether to have machines manufactured and hire them out, or to construct a plant and manufacture them for the trade.
To Hiram it was dull and incomprehensible, and after finis.h.i.+ng it he looked up at Tweet for an explanation.
”I got a sixth int'rest in her, Hooker,” Tweet carelessly informed him.
”My pay for sellin' the stock for 'em.”
”Really! Is it worth anything to you?”
”I'm holdin' it' at eight thousand five hundred. It'll be worth double that in a year or two.”
”Eight thousand five hundred!” Hiram stared unbelievingly at Tweet.
”Why don't you sell it, then?”
”Didn't I say it would be worth double that amount in a year or two?”
”Yes, but you're broke and----”
”And I'll stay broke on a deal like that.” Tweet's indignation caused him to grab his off-center nose and impatiently correct its obstinate trend, but to no avail. ”But le's forget it and get back to that bugbear of our young lives. _When_ are we _going_ to southern California?”
Hiram sat framing a reply, which was rather a difficult process.
”Le's wait till to-morrow, anyway,” he said at last.
”Had quite a little chat with Lucy to-day, eh?”
”Yes, I did. When you told----” Hiram bit his tongue. ”The truth is, she's from Mendocino County, too, and we--we--that is, we found it out.”
Not the faintest sign of suspicion or surprise showed in Tweet's face.
”Well, suit yourself,” he said nonchalantly. ”It's a little late, or I'd go this afternoon. But to-morrow I go. My friend'll dig up the price, but I hate to hit him up any more. Think it over a little longer, Hooker--I'm goin' down for a little stroll. But remember--before noon to-morrow I've gotta have a definite answer.
I've found that Morgan & Stroud send their bunches out every day at one o'clock.”
Tweet folded his precious paper, crammed it his pocket, and left the room.
A few minutes afterward Hiram followed. He ate lunch and dinner in one, then strolled about the city, dreaming of Lucy and fretfully counting the hours till he might expect to feast his material eyes on her again. At nine o'clock he returned to the lodging house, made sure that Tweet was not in the lounging room, and went to bed.
Next morning, close to nine o'clock, he was s.h.i.+fting from one foot to the other before the cas.h.i.+er's counter in the restaurant. From the little window inclosure came the clicking of typewriter keys, a little more spirited than before. Hiram had strategically chosen the slack business hour of the morning. He had eaten breakfast in a cheaper restaurant, two blocks down the street. He had not seen Tweet. He had been walking about the streets since six o'clock.
The keys kept clicking. Hiram cleared his throat several times, and at last, as before, tapped on the show case with a coin. The clicking stopped, a skirt swished, and the gates of heaven opened, it seemed to Hiram.
”Well, look who's here! Good morning.”
”Ha-ha-ha! Good morning, ma'am.”
”Then let's begin this good morning by dropping the 'ma'am.' They all say it up in Mendocino, I know. It's considered the _ne plus ultra_ of good breeding up there. You see I'm trying to steer you straight, and I've got to be frank. I didn't have anybody kind enough to pick the moss off me.”
”I'll stop sayin' it, if you say so.”
”Sure, you want to. Now, I've had another visit from Mr. Tweet. He roasted me for not carrying out his orders. He's just the least bit too fresh, and I intimated as much. But he told me just about how much money you had, and I decided you'd better take his advice and go with him.”
”But I've decided not to go at all now,” said Hiram. ”I'm goin' to begin lookin' for a job here in the city to-day.”