"Of course," she returned.
"Well, do you recall—you were there when the estate was wound up, and I was not—any mention of some worthless oil stock? Some California wildcat stuff the governor got bit on? It was found among his effects."
"I seem to recall something of the sort," she answered. "But I don't remember positively. What about it?"
"Lander writes me that there is a prospect of it being salable. The company is reviving. And he finds himself without legal authority to do business, although the stock certificates are still in his hands. He suggests that we give him a power of attorney to sell this stuff. He's an awfully conservative old chap, so there must be a reasonable prospect of some cash, or he wouldn't bother. My hunch is to give him a power of attorney and let him use his own judgment."
"How much is it worth?" she asked.
"The par value is forty thousand dollars," Benton grinned. "But the governor bought it at ten cents on the dollar. If we get what he paid, we'll be lucky. That'll be two thousand apiece. I brought you a blank form. I'm going down with you on the Bug to-morow to send mine. I'd advise you to have yours signed up and witnessed before a notary at Hopyard and send it too."
"Of course I will," she said.
"It isn't much," Benton mused, leaning on the foot of the crib, watching her smooth the covers over little Jack. "But it won't come amiss—to me, at least. I'm going to be married in the spring."
Stella looked up.
"You are?" she murmured. "To Linda Abbey?"