That
is, not unless you've got fifty thousand to invest. I'll tell you
what I'm here for. My company wants to interest Miss Crown in--"
"Hold on a minute, Wilbur," interrupted Charlie firmly. "You might
just as well hop on a train and go back to Chicago. If you're
expecting me to help you unload a lot of bum oil stock on Miss
Alix Crown you're barking up the wrong tree,--I don't give a cuss
if you are my own sister's son. Miss Crown is my--"
The young man held up his hand, and favoured his uncle with a
tolerant smile.
"I'm not asking your help, old chap. I've got a letter to her from
Mr. Addison Blythe, one of our biggest stockholders. All I'm asking
you to do is to put me up at your house for a day or two while I
lay the whole matter before Miss Crown."
"I haven't got any house," said Charlie, rather helplessly. "Wait
a second! Let me think. How long do you expect to be here, Wilbur?"
"I wouldn't be here more than half an hour if I could get Miss
Crown to say she'd take--"
"Well, she's sick and can't see anybody for a couple of
days,--'specially book agents or oil promoters. I was just thinking
I might fix something up for you over at the Tavern where I'm
staying. It won't cost you a cent, my boy. I'd be a darned cheap
sort of an uncle if I couldn't entertain my nephew when he comes to
our town,--out of a clear sky, you might say.
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