"What's a successful week amount to?"
"We'll probably draw from ten to twelve thousand." What in the world was the meaning of such irrelevant questions?
"About thirty thousand in two weeks," ruminatingly. "I am, even in these days, a comparatively rich man. Lots of ready money, bonds, and stock. It's been piling up for years. And now I'm glad it has."
She understood. He had been struck a dangerous blow on the head, and his mind was wandering. She patted his hand reassuringly.
He went on. "The old home—which I haven't seen in nearly ten years—is up-state, on the edge of the North Woods. The man who farms it keeps up the house. A day's work would make it habitable. Just now it must be wonderful. Skating and snow-shoeing. Lord! how I've hungered for the snow!... I wonder if that extension 'phone will reach over here?"
"Yes." Poor boy! Did he expect to get his farmer on long-distance at this hour?
"Splendid! Now suppose you bring it over?"
She did so. She knelt beside the lounge and held out the telephone.
"No. You're going to start it. Call up Rubin. He'll be asleep; but what I've got to say will wake him up."