“I’m not to say so, remember,” she reminded him.
“Father put no lock on my tongue, though,” he reminded her in turn; “so I’ll just lay down the dictum that as soon as I succeed in any one business deal I’m going to marry you, and I don’t care whether the commodity I handle is electricity or potatoes.”
“But Frank L. Sharpe!” she exclaimed, with shocked remembrance of certain whispered stories she had heard.
“Really, I don’t see where he enters into it,” persisted Bobby. “The Brightlight Electric Company is a stock corporation, in which Mr. Sharpe happens to own some shares; that is all.”
She shook her head.
“I can’t seem to like it,” she told him, and rose to go.
The door opened, and Johnson, with much solemnity, though in his eyes there lurked a twinkle, brought in a card which, with much stiff ceremony, he handed to Bobby.
“Professor Henry H. Bates,” read Bobby in some perplexity, then suddenly his brow cleared and he laughed uproariously. “Come right in, Biff,” he called.
In response to this invitation there entered upon Agnes’ vision a short, chunky, broad-shouldered young man in a checked green suit and red tie, who, finding himself suddenly confronted by a dazzlingly beautiful young lady, froze instantly into speechless awkwardness.
“This is my friend and partner, Mr. Biff—Mr. Henry H. Bates—Miss Elliston,” introduced Bobby, smiling.