“I haven’t the pleasure of his acquaintance. Have you, Betty?”
Betty shook her head smilingly.
“I’ve got his picture here somewhere.” Dick felt in his pocket and drew out a cabinet photograph. “He’s not exactly handsome and he’s never gone in for society, but he’s really very well-to-do, and when he suddenly departs for the first vacation of his long and useful life, just when his railroads are in a good deal of a muddle and several of his corporations are being sued by Uncle Sam, why, naturally Wall Street sits up and takes notice.” He passed the picture to Madeline.
“Why, Betty, it’s our magnate,” she cried laughingly, and Betty, looking at the picture over her shoulder, gave a little shriek of delight. “It is,” she cried.
Dick looked in amazement from one to the other. “I say, have you really met him?” he demanded. “Where was he, and which way was he headed? He didn’t drop any hints about his reasons for being over here, did he?”
Madeline looked at Betty. “You talked to him most.”
“Do you mean did he say whether he is over here just on a vacation for his health?” asked Betty.
Dick nodded, and she repeated Mr. Jasper Jones Morton’s anathemas against vacations, doctors, and European travel. “I’m sure he was telling the truth,” she added earnestly. “He said it all as if he meant it,—he couldn’t have been making up.”
“Having conversed with him about other things he doesn’t like, I catch your point,” chuckled Dick. “J. J. Morton’s earnest hatred is very earnest indeed.” Then he grew sober suddenly. “I wonder where’s the nearest place to cable from. I must get this off at once. Miss Wales, you’ve done me the best kind of a good turn. You don’t mind my taking your story, do you, since you haven’t any possible use for it?”
“Mr. Morton won’t mind, will he?” asked Betty anxiously. “He was awfully nice to us, and it would be mean to take advantage of him.”