Duncan placed a pleading hand on his forearm. "Don't kid me, Harry," he entreated.
"Not a bit of it. This is straight goods. If you want to try it and will follow the rules I lay down, I'll guarantee you'll be a rich man inside of twelve months."
"Rules! Man, I'll follow all the rules in the world! Come on—I'm getting palpitation of the heart, waiting. Tell it to me: what've I got to do?"
"Marry," said Kellogg serenely.
"Marry!" Duncan echoed, aghast.
"Marry," reaffirmed the other with unbroken gravity.
"Marry—who?"
"A girl with a fortune.... You see, I can't guarantee the precise size of her pile. That all depends on luck and the locality. But it'll run anywhere from several hundred thousand up to a million—perhaps more."
Duncan sank back despondently. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Harry," he said dully; "you had me all excited, for a minute."
"No, but honestly, I mean what I say."