“There’s my new scheme,” he said earnestly. “A grand thing, too. We’ll make money hand over fist. Of course you’ll go in.”
Carl looked at the paper.
“Hardly, sir. I don’t care to work for nothing but fame.”
“But this is dead sure, Carl, dead sure. A fortune——”
“The other company was to bring me a fortune, Mr. Wampole. No, henceforth I’m going to travel with a responsible manager or on my own hook.”
“Do you mean to insinuate I’m not responsible?” cried Nathan Wampole, bristling up.
“You haven’t proved yourself to be.”
“I’ve had a misfortune, that’s all. But I’ll get on my feet again, and—hullo, here’s my friend, Leo Dunbar!”
“Nathan Wampole!” ejaculated the young gymnast.
“I want you for my newly organized company,” commenced the old manager, but Leo cut him short.