Hugh’s attention was caught. John Ogden noted that his guest was letting his cigarette go out.
He waited a moment to allow cerebration to go on.
The boy finally met his eyes again. “You seem to mean all this business,” he said.
“Money talks,” returned Ogden sententiously.
“You really want to put up money on this fool idea?”
“It will only be a fool idea if you’re a fool.”
“Well, probably I am.” The boy’s broad shoulders relapsed against the back of his chair.
His companion frowned and sat forward more tensely in his own.
“You are Miss Frink’s legitimate heir,” he said, in a low voice, “but, believe me, there is no hope of her dying intestate. Are you going to continue tamely taking one cheap job after another, being a disgrace to the finest sister a boy ever had, listening to the disgruntled talk of a lot of grouchy fellows until you become as spineless as they are”—