“Then if luck follows you, my dear Claude, I shall know where to go if I want to make a loan,” he says, and the other joins in the laugh.
“Perhaps you’ll give me credit for having a long head when you know all,” pursues Wycherley, with a mysterious nod.
“Then there is still something more back of it?”
“I should say so. This brain-racking mental calculation is only a means to an end. Should the plan carry out I’m a goner,” with a sigh.
“Come, this is very unlike you, my dear fellow, to keep one in suspense so long. If there’s a story back of it all, let’s have it. You always found me a sympathetic listener. Come, wet your lips with a mug of this French cider, served by a divinity in wooden shoes, and then I’ll listen to your tale of woe.”
When this ceremony has been completed, they saunter toward the great Ferris wheel near by, which continues to revolve, its electric-lighted arch spanning the heavens, the most remarkable object in this feast of wonders.
“Now, tell me what you mean by a 'goner.’ If your plans carry, you ought to be happy, Claude.”
“True, true; but you see I’m now thirty-three, and I’ve been so free from care. It will be a tremendous thing for me to assume the responsibility for another,” sighs the Chicagoan.
“Ah, I see! you intend taking a partner.”
“For weal or woe,” groaning.