“When you hear about it—” Reade began.
“Yes, yes—”
“Then you'll know.”
“Tom Reade, do you know, I believe I'm quite ready and willing to thrash you?” cried Harry in exasperation.
“Please don't,” Tom begged.
“Then tell me what you've been so mightily mysterious about.”
“I will,” returned Reade. “I'd have told you hours ago, Harry, only I'm afraid you would have been demoralized with disappointment if the thing had failed to go through. Harry, to-day I've been meddling in other people's business. Congratulate me! I put it through without getting myself thumped or even disliked, by anyone. Both sides to the deal are 'tickled to death,' as the saying runs.”
“You said you were going to tell me,” remarked Hazelton, trying hard to restrain his curiosity for a minute or two longer.
“Sit down and listen,” Tom urged his chum, handing him a chair in their little shack of an office.
Then, indeed, Tom did pour forth the whole story. As Harry listened a broad grin of contentment appeared on his face, for one of Hazelton's lovable weaknesses was his desire to see other people get ahead.