“How much?” demanded the practical feminine.
“Seventy thousand dollars,” replied the bewildered man.
“Seventy thou––Who told you?”
“Why––Minky. Said he’d got it all. But––but that ain’t the worst.”
“Worst?”
Jessie was smiling now––smiling with that motherly, protecting confidence so wonderfully womanly.
Scipio nodded; and his eyes sought hers for encouragement.
“Ther’s the oil, millions an’ millions of it––gallons, I mean.”
“Oil? Millions of gallons? Oh, Zip, do––do be sensible.”
Jessie stood before him, and his worried look seemed to have found a reflection upon her handsome face.