CHAPTER XX
BATTLESBURG SMELLS MONEY AND PLUNGES INTO A MAD ORGIE OF SPECULATION
Billy Ricks, shambling after dandelion greens, stepped out of the road to let a great, olive-green touring car go tearing by and bounce over the railroad track. A second or so later he breathlessly dashed into the near-by office of the wagon works and grabbed for the telephone.
“That millionaire that went through here in his private car a couple o’ weeks ago has come back to town in his automobile,” he told Clint Richards.
“I know it,” was the answer. “He’s just stopped in front of the Palace Hotel,” and with a sigh Billy Ricks hung up the telephone receiver, eying that instrument in huge disfavor.
In the mean time, Main Street, which had relapsed into slumber for two weeks, was once more wide awake. Hope
