"All that I care to say at present," replied the tall doctor, apparently choosing his words with care, "is that I--ah--feel everything's going to work out very satisfactorily in that quarter."
O'Neill stared at him, the gubernatorial cigar forgotten. "Oho!... You've met the Heths personally?" "I've met some of them personally, as you call it,--far as that goes."
O'Neill, puffing again, digested this information speculatively. Presently he looked knowing and laughed.
"Say, remember my saying to you, time you wrote that letter, that if you knew any of these yellow captains and horse-leeches' daughters personally, you'd feel mighty different--"
"But I don't! I don't! You don't seem to get me at all, Sam. I've just shown that my position's exactly--"
"They're a lot of Huns, and that's why they'll shell out thousands and modernize their plants just because you ask 'em?"
The two men eyed each other again, O'Neill good-natured and rather triumphant. V.V., for his part, was smiling just a little sternly.
"Sam," said he, "you thought I was a mad ass to write a letter a few months ago. Now time passes and you say I was quite right, and won't I please write you another in to-morrow's paper. This time, I tell you that a letter will only do harm--great harm--"
"'Phone, Doctor!" bawled a husky young voice from below. "Aw, Doctor! 'Phone!"
"All right, Tommy!" shouted Doctor.