Mr. Molloy, somewhat soothed, examined himself, not without approval, in the mirror.
"I do look dignified," he admitted.
"Like a professor or something."
"That isn't a bald spot coming there, is it?"
"Sure it's not. It's just the way the light falls."
Mr. Molloy resumed his examination with growing content.
"Yes," he said complacently, "that's a face which for business purposes is a face. I may not be the World's Sweetheart, but nobody can say I haven't got a map that inspires confidence. I suppose I've sold more bum oil stock to suckers with it than anyone in the profession. And that reminds me, honey, what do you think?"
"What?" asked Mrs. Molloy, removing cream with a towel.
"We're sitting in the biggest kind of luck. You know how I've been wanting all this time to get hold of a really good prospect—some guy with money to spend who might be interested in a little oil deal? Well, that Carmody fellow we met to-night has invited us to go and visit at his country home."
"You don't say!"