'Can't I? Well, you just get me the five hundred dollars, and I'll see about the making.'
The editor jotted the amount down.
'You don't think four hundred dollars would do?' he said.
'No, I don't. And, say, am I to get a trip to Paris after this is over, or must I come directly back?'
'Oh, I guess we can throw in the trip to Paris,' said the editor.
'What did you say the names of the young men are?—or are they not young? Probably they are old fogies, if they are in the mining business.'
'No; they are young, they are shrewd, and they are English. So you see your work is cut out for you. Their names are George Wentworth and John Kenyon.'
'Oh, Wentworth is my man,' said the young woman breezily. 'John Kenyon! I know just what sort of a person he is—sombre and taciturn. Sounds too much like John Bunyan, or John Milton, or names of that sort.'
'Well, I wouldn't be too sure about it until you see them. Better not make up your mind about the matter.'
'When shall I call for the five hundred dollars?'