“Well, I brought the money,” he announced after a few exchanges of remarks anent the past vacation.
“How much?” asked Russell anxiously.
“A hundred and twenty-five.”
“A hundred and twent— But, Stick, you said it would be a hundred and fifty at least!”
“I didn’t say it positively,” disclaimed the other. “I did think I could put in that much, Rus, but—well, I just can’t do it.” Then, after a short pause, he added in a desire to be strictly truthful: “I mean, I don’t think I ought to, Rus. Of course, it’s my money, and all that, but father doesn’t think very well of the idea, and if he needed money some time he’d expect me to let him have a little, and if I put it all into this I won’t have any left. You see, we don’t know for certain that this thing’s going to be a go. I hope it will be, for I’d hate to lose that money, but there’s nothing sure about it, is there?”
Russell shook his head. “No, nothing’s sure until it’s happened, Stick, but this thing is bound to go all right. Gee, it’s just got to!”
“Yes, I know,” Stick agreed without much enthusiasm, “but things don’t always succeed because some one says they’ve got to.”
Russell sighed. “I wish your grandmother hadn’t married a Scotsman, Stick!”
“What’s that got to do with—”