“Yes, I should like to see what I can do among the natives. Then there is a construction train over at the junction, and I know a lot of the fellows. I guess some of ‘em would like to come.”
“The tickets are a dollar each, you know,” she suggested.
“That’s all right,” said Camp. “Well, good-afternoon.”
Mrs. Makely turned to me with a kind of gasp as he shambled away. “I don’t know about that.”
“About having the whole crew of a construction train at the Talk? I dare say it won’t be pleasant to the ladies who have bought tickets.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Makely, with astonishing contempt, “I don’t care what they think. But Reuben has got all my tickets, and suppose he keeps them so long that I won’t have time to sell any, and then throws them back on my hands? I know!” she added, joyously. “I can go around now and tell people that my tickets are all gone; and I’ll go instantly and have the clerk hold all he has left at a premium.”
She came back looking rather blank.
“He hasn’t got a single one left. He says an old native came in this morning and took every last one of them—he doesn’t remember just how many. I believe they’re going to speculate on them; and if Reuben Camp serves me a trick like that—Why,” she broke off, “I believe I’ll speculate on them myself. I should like to know why I shouldn’t. Oh, I should just like to make some of those creatures pay double, or treble, for the chances they’ve refused. Ah, Mrs. Bulkham,” she called out to a lady who was coming down the veranda toward us, “you’ll be glad to know I’ve got rid of all my tickets. Such a relief!”
“You have?” Mrs. Bulkham retorted.
“Every one.”