CHAPTER III
YOUNG WIX TAKES A HAND IN THE BLACK-EYED
ONE’S GAME
The glowing end of a cigar upon the porch of the adjoining house told Gilman that young Wix was at home, and, full of his important enterprise, he stopped in front of the Wix gate to gloat.
“Hello, Gilman,” said Wix, sauntering down. “Out pretty late for a mere infant of twenty-four?”
“Little matter of business,” protested Mr. Gilman pompously, glancing apprehensively at the second-story window, where a shade was already drawn aside.
“Business!” repeated Wix. “They put midnight business in jail at daylight.”
“Hush!” warned Gilman, with another glance at the window. “This is different. This is one of those lucky strokes that I have read about but never hoped would come my way,” and enthusiastically, in an undertone which Wix had to strain to hear, he recited all the details of the golden opportunity.