Page:Love Insurance - Earl Biggers (1914).djvu/95

74 trembling fingers. Slowly the memory of Trimmer came back. A bomb? What sort of a bomb?

Well, he had given his word. There was no way out—he must protect old Jephson's interests. But might he not wish the enemy—success? He stared off in the direction the advertising wizard had gone.

"Trimmer, old boy," he muttered, "here's to your pitching arm!"