Nonsense. Nothing in
it. Mere invention of Barlow's. He's a regular Edison in his own
way.
[Dorothy looks inquiringly at Barlow.
Barlow (to Yardsley). Oh, don't be so sly about it, old fellow!
_Every_body knows.
Yardsley. But I tell you there's nothing in it. I--I have different
ideas entirely, and you--you know it--or, if you don't, you will
shortly.
Dorothy. Oh! Then it's some one else, Mr. Yardsley? Well, now I
_am_ interested'. Let's have a little confidential talk together.
Tell _us_, Mr. Yardsley, tell Mr. Barlow and me, and maybe--I can't
say for certain, of course--but maybe we can help you.
Barlow (gleefully rubbing his hands). Yes, old man; certainly.
Maybe we--we can help you.
Yardsley (desperately). You can help me, both of you--but--but I
can't very well tell you how.
Barlow. I'm willing to do all I can for you, my dear Bob. If you
will only tell us her name I'll even go so far as to call, in your
behalf, and propose for you.
Yardsley. Oh, thanks. You are very kind.
Dorothy. I think so too, Mr. Barlow. You are almost too kind, it
seems to me.
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