“By gad, Whitley, you shut up. Come and have your dinner. But you haven’t given me my letters yet.”
“Ah, I forgot Well this one is for General Holden. I’ve got to see him at once.”
“What about?”
“Confidential business, my friend. Ask no questions for I want to be spared the pain of refusing you the slightest information. Great guns, Rod, we financial men, you know, hold more secrets than a father confessor. We’ve got to keep our mouths shut all the time, even to our best friends. This is my letter of credit to your local bank—no limit, mind you, on my sight drafts on Keokuk. Ah, yes, here are your letters—one from Aunt Lois, the other from your old guardian. Hope he has put a fat check inside.”
“I don’t need his checks—if there’s any check here, you can take it back.” And Roderick ripped open the envelope.
But there was no offending slip of colored paper enclosed, and he thrust both the letters unread into his pocket.
“Now we’ll dine,” he said.
“A moment, please.” And Whitley turned to the driver of the bob-sled waiting in the middle of the road.
“Go and get your dinner, my man,” he called out. “Then hitch fresh horses in that sled, and come to my hotel, the Bonhomme; that’s the best place in town, if I remember right, Roderick,” he said with a glance at his friend. Then he continued to the driver: “Charge everything to me, and don’t be longer than a couple of hours. Now come along, Roderick. You dine with me—oh, I have an ample expense fund. But I’m sorry I’ll have to leave you immediately after dinner.”
Roderick was overwhelmed by all this grandiloquence. He hardly dared to take his old chum’s arm as they walked along the street. But at last he stopped, burst out laughing, and slapped the man of affairs squarely between the shoulders.