“No, no, oil was my line. I've been fighting the Trust, and last year they bought me out, and now I'm seeing the world.”
Mr. Gamble relapsed into thought again. “I never went in for that sort of thing myself,” he said meditatively; “I am a married man, I am, and one woman is enough for me.”
“Is your family in New York?” asked Montague, in an effort to change the subject.
“No, no, they live in Pittsburg,” was the answer. “I've got four daughters—all in college. They're stunning girls, I tell you—I'd like you to meet them, Mr. Montague.”
“I should be pleased,” said Montague, writhing inwardly. But a few minutes later, to his immense relief, Mr. Gamble arose, and bade him good night.
Montague saw him clamber laboriously into his automobile, and then he turned to his brother.
“Oliver,” he asked, “what in the devil does this mean?”
“What mean?” asked Oliver, innocently.
“That man,” exclaimed the other.
“Why, I thought you would like to meet him,” said Oliver; “he is an interesting chap.”