"That's all right," replied Bodney, brightening as he took the bank notes. "Can't keep a squirrel on the ground, but you can shoot him out of a tree."
"But we haven't been shot out of the tree yet. Things will begin to come our way now, you see if they don't. I've got a proposition to submit to you that will make us both rich—regular gold mine, with not a dull moment in it—life from beginning to end. I can't, tell you now, but hold yourself in readiness for it. You can take that thirty and maybe win a hundred at the Wexton. In the meantime I'll be perfecting my plans. We shall need four or five agents, but I can get them all right, and if we don't live in clover a bumble bee never did. Now, don't you feel better? Look at me."
"Yes, I feel better."
"And don't you believe we'll pull out all right? Hah?" He put his hand on Bodney's shoulder and looked into his eyes.
"Yes, I do."
"Of course you do. We have been living in the night, but the sun is rising now. Let's go over to the Wexton and eat dinner."
"I ought to stay here till Howard comes back."
"Why, just to tell him you are going out? If you go out he'll know you are gone, won't he?"
"You go on and I will come pretty soon. I said something to Howard just now that I want to correct."
"All right," said Goyle. "But come over as soon as you can."