Yes, I must admit I was feedin' him a classy spiel, and I was just
throwin' the gears into high-high for a straightaway spurt when all of
a sudden I gets the hunch I ain't makin' half the hit I hoped I was.
It's no false alarm, either. T. Waldo's gaze is gettin' sterner every
minute, and he seems to be stiffenin' from the neck down.

"I say," he breaks in, "are--are you trying to sell me something?"

"Me?" says I. "Gosh, no! I hadn't quite got to that part, but my idea
is to give you a chance to unload something on us. This Apache Creek
land of yours."

"Really," says Waldo, "I don't follow you at all. My land?"

"Sure!" says I. "All this shaded pink. That's yours, you know. And
as it lays now it's about as useful as an observation car in the
subway. But if you'll swap it for preferred stock in our power
company--"

"No," says he, crisp and snappy. "I owned some mining stock once, and
it was a fearful nuisance. Every few months they wanted me to pay
something on it, until I finally had to burn the stuff up."

"That's one way of gettin' rid of bum shares," says I. "But look; this
is no flimflam gold mine. This is sure-fire shookum--a sound business
proposition backed by one of the--"

"Pardon me," says T. Waldo, glarin' annoyed through the big panes, "but
I don't care to have shares in anything."