David was the principal subject of discussion. The airy
scalawag was not long in getting to the bottom of the fugitive's
history, so far as it could be obtained from the rather disconnected
utterances of the convivial Thomas. They had come upon each other in a
bar-room, but Dick had succeeded in getting the showman away from the
place before he reached the maudlin stage. The day's business had been
good. Braddock was cheerful, almost optimistic in consequence. He
vociferously thanked his lucky sun, not his stars. Convinced that this
was an uncommonly clever bit of paraphrasing, he repeated it at least
a dozen times with great unction, always appending a careful
explanation so that Dick would be sure to catch the point--or, you
might say, the twist.
"If we only had sunshine like this," he announced with a comprehensive
wave of his hand, regardless of the fact that it was ten o'clock at
night, "I'd clear a million dollars this season. We've got nearly
fifteen hundred dollars in that tent to-night, Dick. Twenty-one
hundred on the day. A week of this beautiful sunshine and we'd be
doing three thousand a day.
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