“Ah yes,” I stupify, “but seldom persons can afford to accept it.”
“I could receive such a gifts,” say Arthur.
“Hush it,” are hiss from me; “who knows what? Maybe Hon. Hearst have got you already on sporty page beside portrait of Jno. D. Rockefeller at sinful age of 13. Maybe you are already politickly dead and buried under following headline:
HE TOOK IT!!
PUSSITIVE PROOF THAT ARTHUR
T. KICKAHAJAMA, FOOLISH MISSIONARY
BOY, RECEIVE 2C STAMP FROM
OIL TRUST!!”
“O please excuse!” say Arthur for pale chop. “I have not yet took them Standard Oily money have I?”
“Not yet, but when?” say I nervusly. “You must now be in constant state of collapse. Any moment something might happen. Each hour post-officer might make door-ring with yellow envelop.
“‘Why I get this envelop?’ you require of post-officer with Japanese puzzle of brain.
“‘Perhaps something are inside of it,’ snuggest Hon. Carry-it.
“‘What would be inside of such a envelop?’ you ask to know.