A Call Loan
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him, hearing only a rather pleasing whistle somewhere in the night rendering the lugubrious air of “The Cowboy’s Lament.”
“It’s the only tune he knows,” shouted Merwin, as he ran. “I’ll bet———”
They were at the door of Merwin’s house. He kicked it open and fell over an old valise lying in the middle of the floor. A sunburned, firm-jawed youth, stained by travel, lay upon the bed puffing at a brown cigarette.
“What’s the word, Ed?” gasped Merwin.
“So, so,” drawled that capable youngster. “Just got in on the 9:30. Sold the bunch for fifteen, straight. Now, buddy, you want to quit kickin’ a valise around that’s got $29,000 in greenbacks in its in’ards.”
