Hitt looked into Carmen’s glowing eyes. “How old are you?” he suddenly asked. The abruptness of the strange, apparently irrelevant question startled the girl.
“Why,” she replied slowly, “as old as––as God. And as young.”
“And, as human beings reckon time, eighteen, eh?” continued Hitt.
She nodded, wondering what the question meant. Hitt then turned to Haynerd. “How much money can you scrape together, if you sell this lot of junk?” he asked, sweeping the place with a glance.
“Five or six thousand, all told, including bank account, 76 bonds, and everything, I suppose,” replied Haynerd mechanically.
“Carlson wants forty thousand for the Express. I’m not a rich man, as wealth is estimated to-day, but––well, oil is still flowing down in Ohio. It isn’t the money––it’s––it’s what’s back of the cash.”
Carmen reached over and laid a hand on his arm. “We can do it,” she whispered.
Hitt hesitated a moment longer, then sprang to his feet. “And we will!” he cried. “I’ve pondered and studied this scheme for a year, but I’ve only to-day seen the right help. That is your tremendous, driving thought,” he said, turning to Carmen. “That thought is a spiritual dynamite, that will blast its way through every material obstacle! Ned,” seizing Haynerd by the shoulder and shaking him out of his chair, “rouse up! Your light has come! Now I’ll ’phone Carlson right away and make an appointment to talk business with him. You’ll stand with me, Carmen?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“And you, Ned?”