The big tract in question belonged to a bank, whose president, a very
good fellow, was our particular friend. Early next morning I paid him
a visit. Almost immediately he asked me questions about Thorpe, which
I was able to answer satisfactorily from a business point of view.
"Mr. Thorpe struck me as a very shrewd young man. He'll get there."
"He played football for England."
"Ah! Well, indirectly, I suppose, we can thank you for this deal."
"You can thank Jim Misterton and his wife."
"I have not the pleasure of knowing them. They had something to do
with this, eh?"
"Everything."
The president frowned; his voice was not quite so pleasant as he
said--
"Are they likely to claim a commission?"
"Certainly not. All the same, something is due. Without the Mistertons
you would never have sold this ranch to Thorpe. One moment. It is in
your power to do these people a service, and it will cost you nothing.
Jim Misterton was a clerk in London, and a capable one, but his health
broke down. He came out here to the brush-hills. He got back his
health, but he's lost everything else. Give him a place in this bank.
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