V
Far back in America and up in Vermont five weeks later, Ted Thorne called me on the telephone at the newspaper office.
“Just got a long letter from Nathan, Bill!” he cried. “And what do you suppose that darned son-of-a-gun has gone to work and done? He not only found our goods and took ’em in charge, but he’s engineered a sale to the Japanese Government for twenty-two cents per garment more than we ever dreamed of getting from the Russians. And by the living Jehoshaphat, he’s got his money!”
“That’s bully, Ted. I always thought Nat had the stuff in him, if he only had a chance. What’s he going to do now—come home?”
“No, that’s why I called you up—thought you’d like to know. He wants to join the American Red Triangle and plunge into the heart of Russia.”
“Well, you’re going to let him, aren’t you?”
“Holy Moses! Do you think I’d try to stop him? But believe me, he’s going to have some job with us if he ever comes home!”