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 thought I was such a big important guy, that nobody could touch."

"You might make a sermon out of it—and you probably will!"

The chastened and positively-for-the-last-time-reformed Elmer lasted for days. He was silent at the conference with Oscar Dowler, Oscar's lawyer, Mannie Silverhorn, and T. J. Rigg in the church study next noon. Rigg and Silverhorn did the talking. (And Elmer was dismayed to see how friendly and jocose Rigg was with Silverhorn, of whom he had spoken in most un-Methodist terms.)

"Yuh, you've got the goods on the Doctor," said Rigg. "We admit it. And I agree that it's worth ten thousand. But you've got to give us a week to raise the money."

"All right, T. J. See you here a week from today?" said Mannie Silverhorn.

"No, better make it in your office. Too many snooping sisters around."

"All right."

Everybody shook hands profusely—except that Elmer did not shake hands with Oscar Dowler, who snickered, "Why, Elmer, and us so closely related, as it were!"

When they were gone, the broken Elmer whimpered, "But, T. J., I never in the world could raise ten thousand! Why, I haven't saved a thousand!"

"Hell's big bells, Elmer! You don't suppose we're going to pay 'em any ten thousand, do you? It may cost you fifteen hundred—which I'll lend you—five hundred to sweeten Hettie, and maybe a thousand for detectives."

"Uh?"

"At a quarter to two this morning I was talking to Pete Reese of the Reese Detective Agency, telling him to get busy. We'll know a lot about the Dowlers in a few days. So don't worry."

Elmer was sufficiently consoled not to agonize that week,