"You'd–what?"
The motor wizard repeated his words.
"Well, I'm blessed!" murmured Hill, "Why, Hank Burton is one of the three who helped Lafe Wynn nearly ruin you! And now you talk o' grubstakin' him. That red hair of yours certainly covers a lot of foolish idees."
"Burton is the best of Gerald's old gang, Hiram," said Clancy, as the two walked in the direction of the Bolingbroke House.
"That ain't a-sayin' a heap in his favor."
"He's a whole lot better than Bob Katz."
"Not much in that, nuther. But you won't have no chance to grubstake Burton, Clancy. He won't show up in the mornin'."
They reached the hotel, secured a room, and Clancy at once got out of his wet clothes. He was so tired and sleepy that he dozed off without thinking anything about the water-soaked satchel.
Hill, however, had the satchel on his mind, and took good care of it. When Clancy awoke in the morning, the bright sun was streaming in at the two windows of the room. On the floor in front of the windows Hill had spread two newspapers; and on these newspapers, where the warm sun would strike them, he had spread out the bank notes that had gone into the ocean with Clancy the night before.
It was pleasant work for Hiram, drying all that money. He whistled joyously as he changed the wet bills around, shifting the dryest to the shade and the wettest to the place where they would receive the hottest part of the sun's rays.