Promptly the next morning at eleven, Westland put in an appearance at the Matson home. He was carefully groomed and everything about him indicated money. He fairly exuded prosperity.
He greeted Joe with a cordiality that seemed a trifle overdone, considering their brief acquaintance.
“By George, Mr. Matson,” he said, “this town has fallen for you all right. The whole place is buzzing with that affair of last night, and I don’t wonder. If it hadn’t been for you, the coroner and undertaker would be busy this morning.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” responded Joe. “If I hadn’t got to it someone else would. It wasn’t much of a blaze anyway, and ten to one it would have gone out of itself.”
“Modest I see,” laughed Westland. “They say that all great men are. But you can’t get anyone 23 in this town to take such a slighting view of it as you do yourself.”
“You said last night that you had a business matter you wanted to see me about,” suggested Joe, in order to change the subject.
“So I have,” replied Westland, “and I’ve traveled over a thousand miles to talk to you personally about it.”
He lighted a fresh cigar while Joe waited indifferently. He had been interviewed so much in the last year or two on all conceivable subjects that his curiosity was scarcely awakened.
“Of course, Mr. Matson,” began Westland, “you’ve heard of the new major league that has just been organized and——”
Joe’s bored feeling vanished and he was wide-awake in an instant. So this was what the visit meant! Jim’s prediction was coming true sooner than he had expected.