You did fine work outside. You told me, didn't
you, that it was all settled at last--that our claims are clear-listed
for patent?"
The tubby little man felt the edge of irony in the quiet voice. "Sure.
That's what Winton told me," he assented nervously.
"Then you'll be interested to know that a special field agent of the
Land Department sat opposite me last night and without batting an eye
came across with the glad news that he was here to investigate our
claims."
Selfridge bounced up like a rubber ball from the chair into which he had
just settled. "What!"
"Pleasant surprise, isn't it? I've been wondering what you were doing
outside. Of course I know you had to take in the shows and cabarets of
New York. But couldn't you edge in an hour or two once a week to attend
to business?"
Wally's collar began to choke him. The cool, hard words of the big
Scotchman pelted like hail.
"Must be a bluff, Mac. The muckrake magazines have raised such a row
about the Guttenchild crowd putting over a big steal on the public that
the party leaders are scared stiff. I couldn't pick up a newspaper
anywhere without seeing your name in the headlines. It was fierce."
Selfridge had found his glib tongue and was off.
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