“Indeed!”
He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote.
“I ain’t the son of a prophet, but I’m venturing a prediction,” he explained.
She had nothing to say, and she said it competently.
“Concerning an investment in futurities I’m making,” he continued.
Her magazine article seemed to be beginning, well.
“It’s a little guess about how this train robbery is coming out. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave it with you.” He tore the page out, put it in an empty envelope, sealed the flap, and handed it to her.
“Open it in a month, and see whether my guess is a good one.”
The dusky lashes swept round indolently. “Suppose I were to open it to-night.”
“I’ll risk it,” smiled the blue eyes.