Silk instead of gingham. Dainty shoes
instead of buckskin moccasins.--What an Aladdin's lamp money was,
anyway. Funny that they had settled upon Vancouver for a home. Tommy was
there too. Of course. Should a fellow stick to his hunch? Vancouver
might give birth to an opportunity. Profitable undertakings.--At any
rate he would see her now and then. But would he--working? Did he want
to? Would a cat continue to stare at a king if the king's crown rather
dazzled the cat's eyes? Suppose--just suppose--
Thompson sat up in bed with a start. It seemed to him that he had just
lain down, that the train of his thought was still racing. But it was
broad day, a dull morning, gloomy with that high fog which in spring
often rides over the city and the bay till near noon.
He stretched his arms, yawning. All at once he recollected that he had
something to do, a call to make upon Mr. John P. Henderson at ten
o'clock. Groya Motors--he wondered what significance that held. At any
rate he proposed to see.
It lacked just forty minutes of the appointed time. Thompson bounced out
of bed. Within twenty minutes he had swallowed a cup of coffee at a
near-by lunch counter and was on his way up Van Ness.
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