First ringing for breakfast, he bathed and shaved and arrayed himself
carefully in glad habiliments of quiet taste and cut, in which he bore
slight resemblance to the rough-and-ready Britt of Elmsdale.
Sitting indolently sideways to the table, his feet on a chair, he
discussed an excellent breakfast leisurely, as one at peace with
the world. His paper was propped before him; he chuckled as he read.
Breakfast finished, he pulled his coffee over, lit a cigar and puffed
luxuriously. Not till then did he open the letter taken from the
discarded coat of yesterday. It read:
Well, old man, I am sending you an easy one. Crack him hard for me.
He's the rankest sucker yet. I was going to work the Scholar's Gambit
on him, but he'll get his hooks on a whole bunch of money when he gets
down town, so I turn him over to you. 'Fifty thou. to be paid him
by Atwood, Strange & Atwood. You know of them--Mining Engineers and
Experts, 25 Broad. Let him get the boodle and hand him a sour one.
Name, Steve Thompson, en route to New York. Section 5, Sleeper
Tonawanda, Phoebe Snow. Brown, smooth-shaved, hand-me-down suit,
cowboy hat. From Butte, Montana. Has sold his mine, the Copper-bottom
(on right of trail northeast of Anaconda). Former partner, Frank
Short, killed by powder explosion at Bozeman, two years ago.
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