“The Sortwells have advertised that all right,” agreed Mr. Hook.
“He isn’t working for dubs, Hen!”
“Probably not! But with the judge out of town I can’t dig up more than three hundred and fifty this morning, not even if I went and robbed my old woman’s work-basket!”
“Needn’t worry about that,” said Dodovah Vose. “I’ve got public spirit and I want to see business get a hump on in this town. I’ll lend you enough to make up the five hundred.”
Mr. Hook devoted thirty seconds to meditation. “Let’s see—what did I understand you to say your concern is?” he queried with assumed innocence.
“I did not say—we are not advertising; we are pussyfooting so that they won’t be boosting land values on us,” I said, serenely.
“But among friends—”
“News travels faster among friends than anywhere else. Mr. Hook, I’m not going to risk my job by shooting off my mouth. You don’t think I’ve come back to my home town to work a flimflam trick, do you?”
“I’ll grab in on this myself rather than see the plan dumped,” stated the landlord.
“I’ll go down and put the thing up to the boys,” offered Hook, hastily. Fifty dollars and over a day had properly baited this Hook.