Old Hickory nods.
"Find that man Pettigrew," says he, tossin' over the letter. "He owns some land we need. There's a map of it, also a memorandum of what we're willing to pay. Report to-morrow."
"Yes, sir," says I. "Want me to close the deal by noon?"
Maybe they didn't catch the flicker under them bushy eyebrows. But I did, and I knew he was goin' to back my bluff.
"Any time before five will do," says he. "Wait! You'd better take a check with you."
If we was lookin' to get any gasps out of that bunch, we had another guess comin'. They knew Old Hickory's fondness for tradin' on his reputation, and that he didn't always pull it off. The engineer humps his eyebrows sarcastic, while Ballinger and the lawyer swaps a quiet smile.
"Then perhaps we had best stay over and take the deeds back with us," says Ballinger.
"Do," snaps Old Hickory. "You can improve the time hunting for your average New Yorker. Here you are, Torchy."
Say, he's a game old sport, Mr. Ellins. He plays a hundred-to-one shot like he was puttin' money on a favorite. And he waves me on my way with never a wink of them keen eyes.
"Gee!" thinks I. "Billed for a masked marvel act, ain't I? Well, that bein' the case, this is where I get next to Pettigrew or tear something loose."