"I tell you, it'd be no use," he replied, in a tone that implied he wished
to hear no more of the matter.

"You put me up," I repeated. "And if you do your best, I'll get in all
right. I've got lots of friends there. And you've got three relatives in
the committee on membership."

At this he gave me a queer, sharp glance--a little fright in it.

I laughed. "You see, I've been looking into it, Sam. I never take a jump
till I've measured it."

"You'd better wait a few years, until--" he began, then stopped and turned
red.

"Until what?" said I. "I want you to speak frankly."

"Well, you've got a lot of enemies--a lot of fellows who've lost money in
deals you've engineered. And they'd say all sorts of things."

"I'll take care of that," said I, quite easy in mind. "Mowbray Langdon's
president, isn't he? Well, he's my closest friend." I spoke quite honestly.
It shows how simple-minded I was in certain ways that I had never once
noted the important circumstance that this "closest friend" had never
invited me to his house, or anywhere where I'd meet his up-town associates
at introducing distance.

Sam looked surprised. "Oh, in that case," he said, "I'll see what can be
done." But his tone was not quite cordial enough to satisfy me.