Could he have an option? _Could_ he! Only the restraining hand of a neighbor upon his coat tail prevented Walt Scales from hurdling the intervening chairs to reach Toomey to thrust his shares upon him. Hope and skepticism of the genuineness of his assertions commingled in the faces upon which Toomey looked, while he waited for an answer. He saw the doubt and took Prentiss's letter from his pocket. Shaking it at them, he declared impressively: "This communication is from a party I have interested--an old friend of mine of wealth and standing, who will finance the project providing it is as represented, and under the condition I have just mentioned." Toomey himself so thoroughly believed what he said that he carried conviction, although nowadays his veracity under oath would have been questioned. The prospect of unloading his stock made Hiram Butefish as thirsty as if he had eaten herring, and, overlooking the glass in his excitement, he drank long and deep from the water pitcher before he said tremulously: "Undoubtedly that can be arranged, Mr. Toomey." It was obvious that the Boosters Club shared its president's opinion. Each quivered with an eagerness to get at Toomey which was not unlike that of a race horse fretting to be first over the starting line. They crowded around him when the meeting was ended, offering their congratulations and their stock to him, but taking care to avoid any mention of the various sums that he owed each and all. As for Toomey, it was like the old days when his appearance upon the streets of Prouty was an event, when they called him "Mister" and touched their hat-brims to him, when he could get a hearing without blocking the exit. He left the Boosters Club with his pulses bounding with pride and importance. He had "come back"--as a man must who has imagination and initiative. They could "watch his smoke," could Prouty. There was not a member present who did not reach his home panting, to shake his wife out of her slumbers to tell her that, at last, Toomey had "got into something." CHAPTER XXV THE CHINOOK Emblazoned on the front page of the Omaha paper upon which Mr. Pantin relied to keep him abreast of the times was the announcement that both mutton and wool had touched highwater mark in the history of the sheep-raising industry. Mr. Pantin moved into the bow window where the light was better and read the article carefully. The Australian embargo, dust-storms in the steppes of Russia, rumors of war, all had contributed to send prices soaring. When he had concluded, he took the stub of a pencil from his waistcoat pocket and made a computation in neat figures upon the margin. As he eyed the total his mouth puckered in a whistle which changed gradually to a grin of satisfaction. "You can't keep a squirrel down in a timbered country," Mr. Pantin chuckled aloud, ambiguously. A pleased smile still rested upon his face when Mrs. Pantin entered. "Priscilla, will you do me a favor?"