“What,” I cried, “you don’t mean to tell me that you put him in an ordinary room? Now [[154]]that’s too bad. For he’ll be offended, and we won’t get the new toy factory.”
“Toy factory?” scrooched Uncle Sam.
“I understand,” I went on, “that he intends to build a radio toy factory here if he likes the town.”
The other could hardly swallow this.
“Him? Pshaw! He’s jest a boy.”
“His father,” I said, “is backing him in whatever he does.”
A crafty light came into the narrowed eyes.
“Toy factory, heh? Um.…”
“It will be a big thing for the town,” I waggled. “And those lots of yours down by the depot will be worth a thousand dollars apiece.”
“I was jest thinkin’ of them lots.… Has he got an option on a factory site?”