“One that will run well, popular enough to catch the public fancy?”
“Yes.”
“Who, then?”
“Waring Ridgway.”
The owner of the name stared at his lieutenant in astonishment, but slowly the fascination o the idea sank in.
“By Jove! Why not?”
CHAPTER IX.
AN EVENING CALL
“Says you’re to come right up, Mr. Ridgway,” the bell-hop reported, and after he had pocketed his tip, went sliding off across the polished floor to answer another call.
The president of the Mesa Ore-producing Company turned with a good-humored smile to the chief clerk.
“You overwork your boys, Johnson. I wasn’t through with that one. I’ll have to ask you to send another up to show me the Harley suite.”