“Good?” echoed Jim, sharply. “It’s more than good—it’s great, it’s glorious! Wake up, man, and stop your dreaming.”
Joe came to himself with a little start.
“You’re—you’re right, Jim,” he stammered somewhat confusedly. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t thinking just then of money.”
Jim gave him a quick glance, and a sudden look of amused comprehension came into his eyes. Joe caught his glance and flushed.
“What are you blushing about?” demanded Jim with a grin.
“I wasn’t blushing,” defended Joe, stoutly. “It’s mighty warm in this cab.”
Jim laughed outright.
“Tell that to the King of Denmark,” he chuckled. “I’m on, old man. You told me in the clubhouse that you were going to the Marlborough Hotel, and I know just who it is that’s stopping there.”
“My friend, Reggie Varley, is putting up there,” countered Joe, feebly.
“My friend Reggie Varley,” mimicked Jim, “to say nothing of his charming sister. Oh, I’m not blind, old fellow. I’ve seen for a long time how the wind was blowing. Well,” he continued, dropping his light tone for a more earnest one, “go in and win, Joe. I hope you have all the luck in the world.”