"Nothing doing! I'm not as foolish as I am young. And besides I don't know."
The editor took a turn across the room and rumpled his hair. He pointed to a clipping on his desk from the Indianapolis "Advertiser" of that morning. The headlines proclaimed:—
SCANDAL IN SYCAMORE TRACTION
RUMORS THAT RECEIVERSHIP IS IMMINENT
FOREIGN BONDHOLDERS THREATENING
HOLTON ESTATE TO BE INVESTIGATED
Phil's face grew serious. Her father had not been home for several days and she knew that his business in Indianapolis had absorbed his time and attention increasingly.
"I'm sure I don't know anything about it," she answered, "and of course if you thought I did you wouldn't ask me."
"Of course not, Phil. But it's a mess. And I don't know whether to print something about it or let it go. Bill Holton's out of town and I don't like to shoot without giving him a chance. But I owe him a few. If the company goes bust, there's going to be a row round here we won't forget in a hurry. Every widow and orphan in the county has got some of that stuff. They worked that racket as hard as they could—home road for the home people. What's the answer?"
Phil drew up the editor's clip of paper and wrote:—
"Mr. Amzi Montgomery went to Indianapolis yesterday to attend the Nordica concert."
Barker stared at this item blankly.
"What's that got to do with it?"