“I hold to the opinion,” Mrs. Poundstone interrupted, “that if one wishes for a thing hard enough and just keeps on wishing, one is bound to get it.”
“My dear,” said Mr. Poundstone impressively, “if you would only confine yourself to wishing, I assure you your chances for success would be infinitely brighter.”
There was no mistaking this rebuke; even two cocktails were powerless to render Mrs. Poundstone oblivious to it. Shirley and her uncle saw the Mayor's lady flush slightly; they caught the glint of murder in His Honour's eye; and the keen intelligence of each warned them that closed cars should be a closed topic of conversation with the Poundstones. With the nicest tact in the world, Shirley adroitly changed the subject to some tailored shirt-waists she had observed in the window of a local dry-goods emporium that day, and Mrs. Poundstone subsided.
About nine o'clock, Shirley, in response to a meaning glance from her relative, tactfully convoyed Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, leaving her uncle alone with his prey. Instantly Pennington got down to business.
“Well,” he queried, apropos of nothing, “what do you hear with reference to the Northern-California-Gregon Railroad?”
“Oh, the usual amount of wind, Colonel. Nobody knows what to make of that outfit.”
Pennington studied the end of his cigar a moment. “Well, I don't know what to think of that project either,” he admitted presently, “But while it looks like a fake, I have a suspicion that where there's so much smoke, one is likely to discover a little fire. I've been waiting to see whether or not they will apply for a franchise to enter the city, but they seem to be taking their time about it.”
“They certainly are a deliberate crowd,” the Mayor murmured.
“Have they made any move to get a franchise?” Pennington asked bluntly. “If they have, I suppose you would be the first man to hear about it. I don't mean to be impertinent,” he added with a gracious smile, “but the fact is I noticed that windbag Ogilvy entering your office in the city hall the other afternoon, and I couldn't help wondering whether his visit was social or official.”
“Social—so far as I could observe,” Poundstone replied truthfully, wondering just how much Pennington knew, and rather apprehensive that he might get caught in a lie before the evening was over.