"Go to it, Waring."
His host waved him the freedom of the diningroom, and Ridgway fell to.
Never before had food tasted so good. He had been too sleepy to cat last
night, but now he made amends. The steak, the muffins, the coffee, were
all beyond praise, and when he came to the buckwheat hot cakes, sandwiched
with butter and drenched with real maple syrup, his satisfied soul rose up
and called Hop Lee blessed. When he had finished, Sam capped the climax by
shoving toward him his case of Havanas.
Ridgway's eyes glistened. "I haven't smoked for days," he explained, and
after the smoke had begun to rise, he added: "Ask what you will, even to
the half of my kingdom, it's yours."
"Or half of the Consolidated's," amended his friend with twinkling eyes.
"Even so, Sam," returned the other equably. "And now, tell me how you
managed to round us all up safely."
"You've heard, then, that we got the whole party in time?"
"Yes, I've been talking with one of your enthusiastic riders that went out
with you after us. He's been flimflammed into believing you the greatest
man in the United States.
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