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Updated: May 24, 2025
Her name is Agnes Elliston." "What is the matter?" asked Johnson in sudden concern, and Applerod grabbed him by the arm. "Oh, nothing much," said Bobby; "a little groggy, that's all. The governor just handed me one under the belt. By the way, boys" and they scarcely noted that he no longer said "gentlemen" "if you have nothing better in view I want you to consider yourselves still in my employ.
"Give me the letter, Johnson," he said with a wry smile, and Johnson, answering it with another equally as grim, handed him a gray envelope. Applerod, who had been the first to upbraid him, was now the first to recover his spirits. "Never mind, Mr. Burnit," said he; "businesses and even fortunes have been lost before and have been regained. There are still ways to make money."
"I have decided to give you back the money and take up again my approximate one-fifth share in the Applerod Addition," announced that gentleman complacently. Bobby was entirely too much surprised at this to be amused. "You're just a trifle too late, Mr. Applerod," said he.
Johnson, his lips glued tightly together in one firm, thin, straight line across his face, was glaring steadfastly at the corner of the ceiling, permitting no expression whatever to flicker in his eyes; noting which, Bobby turned to him with a point-blank question: "What do you think of this opportunity, Mr. Johnson?" he asked. Mr. Johnson glared quickly at Mr. Applerod.
"Very well," said Bobby, "wait a minute." And tearing a leaf from his memorandum-book he wrote a note to Johnson to see to the transfer of the property and deliver to Applerod a check for five thousand dollars. "That was more than generous; it was foolish," protested Jimmy Platt, as they whirled away. "No doubt," admitted Bobby dryly.
Applerod and the secretly jubilant Jimmy Platt had sped out Westmarsh way, and were inspecting the hundred and twelve acres of swamp which the new firm of Burnit and Applerod held between them. "It's a fine job," said the young engineer, coveting anew the tremendous task as he bent upon it an admiring professional eye. "This time next year you won't recognize the place. It's a noble thing, Mr.
"He'll be having blue suits and brass buttons on us two next," he snorted. "He don't mean it at all that way," protested Applerod. "For my part, I think he's a fine young fellow." "I'll give you to understand, sir," retorted Johnson, violently resenting this imputed defection, "that he is the son of his father, and for that, if for nothing else, would have my entire allegiance."
Bobby was about to turn into his own room to absorb his humiliation in secret when Applerod hesitantly stopped him. "Another thing, sir," he said. "Mr. Frank L. Sharpe called up early this morning to know when he would find you in, and I took the liberty of telling him that you would very likely be here at ten o'clock." Bobby frowned slightly at the mention of that name.
"Why, Burnit, the work is nearly done and I have already in sight seventy-six thousand dollars of clear profit over my investment." Bobby did not remind Applerod that his four thousand dollars represented only a trifling part of the investment required to yield this seventy-six thousand dollars' profit. Yet, after all, there was no flaw in Applerod's commercial reasoning.
The city papers were teeming now with the vast energy and public-spirited enterprise of young Robert Burnit and Oliver P. Applerod, and there were many indications that the enterprise was to be a most successful one.
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