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High over and beyond the monarch of the Shafah Mountains, Jebel Sahharah, whose blue poll shows far out at sea, ran the red levels of the Hisma, backed at a greater elevation by the black-blue Harrah. The whole Tihamah range, now so familiar to us, assumed a novel expression.
Harrah heard him through attentively and when he was done Harrah said candidly: "Perhaps you've been told before that without a qualified engineer's report it isn't much of a business proposition to appeal to a business man." "Once or twice," Bruce answered dryly.
The one stipulation which Bruce had made when he consented to meet the "Spanish Bull-dog" was that his name should not be known in the event of the match being mentioned in the papers; so Harrah had complied by introducing him to his friends by any humorous appellation which occurred to him.
The hour had gone when the door opened and a huge, fiery-bearded, dynamic sort of person went swinging past Bruce without a glance and on to the inner offices. The office boy's husky "That's him!" was not needed to tell him that J. Winfield Harrah had arrived. The air suddenly seemed charged electrically.
Harrah represented to Bruce practically his last chance, but there was nothing in Harrah's veiled, non-committal eyes as he motioned Bruce to a chair and inquired brusquely: "Well what kind of a wild-cat have you got?" which would have led an observer to wager any large amount that his last chance was a good one.
You needn't touch my proposition, you needn't even listen to it, but, hear me, you talk civil!" As Harrah arose Bruce took a step closer and looked at him squarely. A lurking imp sprang to life in Harrah's vivid eyes, a dare-devil look which found its counterpart in Bruce's own. "I believe you think you're a better man than I am." "I can lick you any jump in the road," Bruce answered promptly.
"Nevertheless," Harrah continued, "I'm willing to take a chance on you not on the proposition as you've put it up to me but on you personally, because I like you. I'll head your inscription list with $5000 and introduce you to some men that will probably take a 'flyer' on my say-so.
Bruce had gone about with Harrah since then and with so notable a sponsor the world became suddenly a pleasant, friendly place and life plain sailing; but now every detail had been attended to, and, eager to begin, Bruce was leaving on the morrow, this dinner being in the nature of a farewell party.
Obviously Sprudell had gotten in touch with the stockholders and managed somehow to poison their minds. This was the way, then, that he intended taking his revenge! Harrah's secretary had written Bruce in response to his last appeal that Harrah had been badly hurt in an aeroplane accident in France and that it would not be possible to communicate with him for months perhaps.
Sometimes he found himself anticipating the moment when he should be telegraphing the amount of the clean-up to Helen Dunbar, to Harrah, and to Harrah's good-naturedly pessimistic friends. Bruce ransacked his brain for somebody in the world to envy, but there was no one.
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