might be along. I think he's anxious to see you about something."
So Bert went down to Washington Avenue. The visit was destined to have far-reaching consequences.
Sam Sickles, attending to a customer's wants, gave him the briefest of nods and thereafter paid strict attention to the sale. But when the transaction was completed and the customer gone, the clerk turned eagerly to his visitor.
"I thought you were going to meet me yesterday morning, Bert."
"I was at the Butterfly Man's. I went there Saturday, and the storm came up and I couldn't get home."
"The Butterfly Man? Oh, yes; your father told me about that fellow." Sam's tone showed that, whatever the impression he held of Tom Woods, it was not of the highest. "You should have been with me yesterday. I found it."
"Your opportunity?" Bert asked breathlessly.
"My opportunity," Sam said, and uttered the words with something of the air of a captain of finance.
If Sam's wisdom had loomed admirably before, at this moment it was colossal. In Bert's eyes the clerk took on an added stature and seemed invested with romantic and dynamic possibilities.
"A business plan," Sam went on earnestly, "must be sound and safe . . . and original.
