This dazzling offer resounded in my ears like the explosion of dynamite.
“Why, Governor Tabor, I couldn’t let you do that!”
“Why not? Look on it as a grubstake. I’ve grubstaked hundreds of people in my day. Most of ’em came to nothing but some of ’em turned out lucky. I’m a great believer in the Tabor Luck—and this just might be another lucky grubstake for me. No telling.”
“But I never met you before this evening!”
“What’s that got to do with it? I never saw Hook or Rische before one morning they walked in the old Tabor store and asked me for a grubstake. And then they found the Little Pittsburgh. Meant millions for me!”
“But this grubstake can’t mean millions—I’ll never be able to repay it to you—”
“Not in money, perhaps. But I’m not looking for money anymore. I want other things out of life, too. You take this grubstake and forget it.”
He took a pencil from his pocket and wrote out a draft for five thousand dollars.
“You give this to Bill Bush in the morning and he’ll see that you’re all fixed up.”
As I stared at the sum on the slip of paper, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I gulped and glanced up, awe-struck.