“You can’t get all that money together in a day!” exclaimed the doctor in amazement.
“Oh, no; I don’t expect to try it. I’ll put up all the money necessary. We want five directors, and we have three of them now, you and my wife and I. Do you know anybody around the hotel that would serve?”
The doctor snorted contemptuously.
“Nobody that’s got any money or responsibility,” he asserted.
“They don’t need to have any money, and we don’t want them to have any responsibility,” protested Wallingford. “Anybody of voting age will do for us just now.”
“Well,” said the doctor reflectively, “the night clerk’s a pretty good fellow, and the head dining-room girl here has always been mighty nice to me. She’s some relation to the proprietor and she’s been here for five years.”
“Good,” said Wallingford. “I’ll telephone out for a lawyer.”
There was no telephone in the room, but down-stairs Wallingford found a pay ’phone and selected a lawyer at random from the telephone directory. Within two hours Wallingford and his wife, Doctor Quagg, Albert Blesser and Carrie Schwam had gravely applied for a charter of incorporation under the laws of the state, for The Doctor Quagg Peerless Sciatacata Company, with a capital stock of one thousand dollars, fully paid in. As he signed his name the doctor laughed like a school-boy.
“Now,” said he, “I’m going to get my hair cut.”
Wallingford stopped him in positive fright.