“There!” she exclaimed, shifting on the instant to a lively brusqueness. “That’s enough for you just now. We’re on our way to church!”
Trumble felt almost that she had accepted him.
“Have you got your penny for the contribution box?” she smiled. “I suppose you really give a great deal to the church. I hear you’re richer and richer.”
“I do pretty well,” he returned, coolly. “You can know just how well, if you like.”
“Not on Sunday,” she laughed; then went on, admiringly, “I hear you’re very dashing in your speculations.”
“Then you’ve heard wrong, because I don’t speculate,” he returned. “I’m not a gambler—except on certainties. I guess I disappointed a friend of yours the other day because I wouldn’t back him on a thousand-to-one shot.”
“Who was that?” she asked, with an expression entirely veiled.
“Corliss. He came to see me; wanted me to put real money into an oil scheme. Too thin!”
“Why is it `too thin’?” she asked carelessly.
“Too far away, for one thing—somewhere in Italy. Anybody who put up his cash would have to do it on Corliss’s bare word that he’s struck oil.”