A boy shoved
in his head and yelled for copy. Dave swore at him, impatiently. He
had never before realized how irksome the drudgery of his steady grind
had become.
"I'll go you," he said to Conward at last. "I'll risk this hundred,
and a little more if necessary."
"Good," said Conward, springing to his feet and taking Dave's hand in a
warm grasp. "Now we're away. But you better play safe. Stick to your
pay cheque here until we pull the deal through. There won't be much to
do until then, anyway, and you can help more by guiding the paper along
right lines."
"It sounds like a fairy tale," Dave demurred, as though unwilling to
credit the possibilities Conward had outlined. "You're sure it can be
done?"
"Done? Why, son, it has been done in all the big centres in the
States, and at many a place that'll never be a centre at all. And it
will be done here. Dave, bigger things than you dare to dream of are
looming up right ahead."
Then Dave had a qualm. "If that section of land is worth close to a
million dollars," he said, "is it quite fair to take advantage of the
owner's absence and ignorance to buy it for a few thousand?"
"Dave," said Conward, with an arm on his shoulder, "the respectability
of the firm is safe in your hands. But--_please_ let me weigh the
coal."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
David Elden smoked his after-dinner cigar in his bachelor quarters.
The years had been good to the firm of Conward & Elden; good far beyond
the wildness of their first dreams.
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