“Foolish question number 13,” responded Hugh.

“I know a way you can get it.”

“Well”—the boy regarded his dignified companion curiously—“so do I; but Bolshevism and safe-cracking aren’t the same thing.”

“A sufficient number of good dinners cure Bolshevism, I’ve noticed,” said Ogden. “I have hopes of you if you will do what I say.”

“Shoot,” remarked Hugh, still gazing at him imperturbably.

“You have had some thought of being an actor. I’m offering you a part.”

“I didn’t know what business you were in, Mr. Ogden. Are you a producer?”

“No; I’m in the wool business, and I’ll give you some to pull over your Aunt Susanna’s eyes.”

[18]

[18]

He smiled, and Hugh shook his head.

“I suppose you know what you are talking about.”

“The question is how much stamina have you, Hugh? Could you, for instance, stop your cigarettes? I believe that is the eighth you’re on now.”

“I can do anything I want to, of course,” said the young fellow coolly, “but I don’t believe you can make me want to do that.”

“Are you so in love with your present way of living?” asked Ogden dryly. “Your hall bedroom wouldn’t seem to indicate a very valuable business position.”

“I haven’t any position. I’ve got a job, packing boxes in the basement of a department store.”

“She owns the biggest department store in Farrandale.”

“Who?”

“Your Aunt Susanna.”

“What in thunder do I care what she owns?”

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