He had thought of telling what it contained, but checked himself. He knew nothing of his companion, and was not sure how far it might be safe to trust a stranger.
“I used to be a drummer myself—in the jewelry line—” continued his companion, “and I carried a box just like that.”
“Ah, indeed! Then you are not in that business now?”
“No, I got tired of it. I deal in quite a different article now.”
“Indeed?”
“Suburban lot.”
“You don’t happen to have any of them with you?”
The stout man roared with laughter, giving Rodney the impression that he had said a very witty thing.
“That’s a good one,” he remarked, “the best I’ve heard for a long time. No, I haven’t any of the lots with me, but I’ve got a circular. Just cast your eye over that,” and he drew a large and showy prospectus from his pocket.
“If you should be looking for a good investment,” he continued, “you can’t do any better than buy a lot at Morton Park. It is only eighteen miles from the city and is rapidly building up. You can buy lot on easy installments, and I will myself pick one out for you that is almost sure to double in value in a year or two.”