"But it was a small-town carpenter
built those honest-to-Gawd clothes. I'd say the corn-belt."
"Dressed up for the monthly meeting of the Farmers' Alliance, all but
the oil on his hair. He forgot that," chuckled the accountant.
"He's got a fine chance in Nuh Yawk--of buying a gold brick cheap,"
prophesied the worldly Wickert out of the depths of his metropolitan
experience. "Somebody ought to put him onto himself."
A voice from the darkened window above said, with composure, "That will
be all right. I'll apply to you for advice."
"Oh, Gee!" whispered young Wickert, in appeal to his companion. "How
long's he been there?"
Acute hearing, it appeared, was an attribute of the man above, for he
answered at once:
"Just put my head out for a breath of air when I heard your kind
expressions of solicitude. Why? Did I miss something that came earlier?"
Mr. Hainer melted unostentatiously into the darkness. While young
Wickert was debating whether his pride would allow him to follow this
prudent example, the subject of their over-frank discussion appeared at
his elbow. Evidently he was as light of foot as he was quick of ear.
Meditating briefly upon these physical qualities, young Wickert said, in
a deprecatory tone:
"We didn't mean to get fresh with you.
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