One day Mr. Jerningham waited in vain for young Mr. Wolfe. They had planned to go to Mount Kisco to look at a farm that was offered for sale, Mr. Jerningham having developed the usual millionaire's desire to own an estate. At one o'clock the telephone-bell rang. Jerningham answered in person. He heard a feminine voice say that Mr. Wolfe regretted that a severe indisposition had prevented him from going as usual to Mr. Jerningham's rooms, but he hoped to be sufficiently recovered to have that pleasure on the next day.
Jerningham merely said, “Say I hope it is nothing serious—and ask him, please, whether there is anything I can do.”
Silence. Then: “He says, 'No—thanks!' It is nothing very serious.”
“Tell him not to come down until he has entirely recovered and to take good care of himself. Good-by!”
If Mr. Jerningham heard the tinkling music of an irrepressible giggle at the other end of the wire he did not show it. His face was serious as he found an address in the telephone-directory. He called up the Brown Lecture Bureau and made an appointment to see Captain Brown, the manager, at 3 p.m. At that hour, to the minute, he was ushered into the private offices of the world-famous manager of the lecture bureau.
“Captain Brown?”
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I should like to know what lecturers you have available at the moment,” said Jerningham.
The Klondiker did not look like the chairman of a church entertainment committee or like a village philanthropist. So Captain Brown asked:
“Where is the—er—Is it a club?”