“Oh!” Ferdinand stared at Amos.
“You mean—you didn’t strike oil?”
“Us! You got me into it, Putney! You know darn well you did. You advised me to soak every cent I could get my hands onto in that Panhandle oil field. You did! You did! You did! You⸺”
Ferdinand got into the spirit of the chant and began beating time on the desk-top.
“And so you did, eh?” said Ferdinand. “How much, Amos?”
“Fuf—forty thousand dollars!”
“I didn’t know you had that much.”
“I—I didn’t!” Amos’ voice went so high it almost failed to register. Then he whispered, running back down the scale. “It was the bank money.”
“Mm-m-m-hah,” Ferdinand nodded slowly, wisely. “I’m going to have a hell of a time keeping you out of jail, Amos.”
“You’re as guilty as I am,” shrilled Amos.