"I'll tell you," replied the voice from the twelfth of July, gratified.
"I am kind of busy right now. You'll understand when you get to where I
am. Don't get mad, Sam. Tell you what--you go see Rosie and tell her
about this and have a nice evening. Ha-ha!"
"Now what," asked Sam cagily, "do you mean by that 'ha-ha'?"
"You'll find out," said the voice. "Knowin' what I know, I'll even
double it. Ha-ha, ha-ha!"
There was a click. Sam rang back, but got no answer. He may have been
the first man in history to take an objective and completely justified
dislike to himself.
But presently he grumbled, "Smart, huh? Two can play at that! I'm the
one that's got to do things if we are both goin' to get rich."
He put his gadget carefully away and combed his hair and ate some cold
food around the house and drove over to see Rosie. It was a night and an
errand which ordinarily would have seemed purely romantic. There were
fireflies floating about, and the Moon shone down splendidly, and a
perfumed breeze carried mosquitoes from one place to another. It was the
sort of night on which, ordinarily, Sam would have thought only of
Rosie, and Rosie would have optimistic ideas about how housekeeping
could, after all, be done on what Sam made a week.
They got settled down in the hammock on Rosie's front porch, and Sam
said expansively, "Rosie, I've made up my mind to get rich. You ought to
have everything your little heart desires. Suppose you tell me what you
want so I'll know how rich I've got to get."
* * * * *