"Frank has never--"
"Oh yes, Frank has," answered Sam, turning as though to call a waiter; "I
will have him here in ten minutes if you wish to be shown."
Picking up a fork the woman began nervously picking holes in the table
cloth and a tear appeared upon her cheek. She took a handkerchief from a
bag that hung hooked over the back of a chair at the side of the table and
wiped her eyes.
"All right! All right!" she said, bracing herself, "I'll drop it. If
you've dug up Frank Robson you've got me. He'll do anything you say for a
piece of money."
For some minutes the two sat in silence. A tired look had come into the
woman's eyes.
"I wish I was a man," she said. "I get whipped at everything I tackle
because I'm a woman. I'm getting past my money-making days in the theatre
and I thought the colonel was fair game."
"He is," answered Sam dispassionately, "but you see I beat you to it. He's
mine."
Glancing cautiously about the room, he took a roll of bills from his
pocket and began laying them one at a time upon the table.
"Look here," he said, "you've done a good piece of work. You should have
won. For ten years half the society women of Chicago have been trying to
marry their daughters or their sons to the Rainey fortune.
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