“I'm goin' to open a book, young lady” he announced. “I'm willin' to bet ten dollars that the respectable old party that just give you a telegram signed Carey is wirin' about a friend o' mine. If I don't guess right, you get the ten bucks. Fair?”
The young lady operator dimpled and admitted that it was eminently fair. She had no illusions (although her position required her to have them) regarding the sacredness of privacy in a telegram, and Mr. Hennage had not as yet asked her to violate a confidence.
“I'm a-bettin' ten bucks” repeated Mr. Hennage, “that the name McGraw occurs in that telegram.”
“You win” the operator replied. “How did you guess it?”
“I was born with a veil” he replied. “I got the gift o' second sight, an' I'm just a-tryin' it out. The ten is yours for a copy o' that telegram.”
The operator seized a scratch-pad, copied the telegram and cautiously “slipped” it to Mr. Hennage, who as cautiously “slipped” her the ten-dollar bill. He was rewarded for his prodigality by the following:
R. P. McKeon, Mills Building, Sacramento, Calif.
Advise our friend approve McGraw applications at once. Letter follows.
CAREY.
The gambler smiled his thanks and walked across the hotel lobby to the public-telephone operator. On this young lady's desk he laid a five-dollar bill.