“Then you’re not quite ready for them?”
“Not quite, but I shall be in a day or so. Meanwhile, let the ad run. They’ve seen it and are a bit puzzled over what course to take, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’ll leave it to you,” Ned remarked. “I’ve got my own troubles, Tom.”
“You mean about finances?”
“Yes. We’re sailing pretty close to the wind. You’ve sunk much money in these talking pictures.”
“I realized that when you showed me the figures. But, as I said, it’s sink or swim now, and I think we’ll swim after I get through with these fellows who are hounding me.”
It was three days after this that Ned, coming away from a bank the president of which had suggested that some of the Swift loan had better be reduced soon, stopped in at the Graphic office. He presented the slip calling for any replies that might have been received for Mr. Quick of Box 123, and, somewhat to his surprise, he was handed an envelope. The paper was of good quality, though perfectly plain, and the address was neatly printed.
“They’re taking no chances of handwriting being traced,” remarked Ned, as he hurried back to the laboratory with the missive.
“This may mean business, Tom,” he said to his chum, “or it may be a suggestion from some other paper that you would do well to put the ad in their columns. That’s a newspaper trick, you know.”
“I know it is,” assented the young inventor. “However, this may mean business.” He tore the envelope open and he had no sooner scanned the few lines on a single sheet of paper within than he cried: “Hurray!”