"
There was no mistaking this rebuke; even two cocktails were powerless
to render Mrs. Poundstone oblivious to it. Shirley and her uncle saw
the Mayor's lady flush slightly; they caught the glint of murder in
His Honour's eye; and the keen intelligence of each warned them that
closed cars should be a closed topic of conversation with the
Poundstones. With the nicest tact in the world, Shirley adroitly
changed the subject to some tailored shirt-waists she had observed in
the window of a local dry-goods emporium that day, and Mrs.
Poundstone subsided.
About nine o'clock, Shirley, in response to a meaning glance from her
relative, tactfully convoyed Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, leaving her
uncle alone with his prey. Instantly Pennington got down to business.
"Well," he queried, apropos of nothing, "what do you hear with
reference to the Northern-California-Gregon Railroad?"
"Oh, the usual amount of wind, Colonel. Nobody knows what to make of
that outfit."
Pennington studied the end of his cigar a moment. "Well, I don't know
what to think of that project either," he admitted presently, "But
while it looks like a fake, I have a suspicion that where there's so
much smoke, one is likely to discover a little fire. I've been
waiting to see whether or not they will apply for a franchise to
enter the city, but they seem to be taking their time about it.
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