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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
THE NOW WEALTHY MORT IS CONGRATULATED
Johnstone, magnanimously. "There is oil on the surface, but it may take thousands of dollars to find that there is none below. I will give you seven thousand five hundred/ '
"Not yit!" said Morton, firmly. "Now that, you've found the oil, there'll be others comin' along."
"Good day, Mr. Morton," said Johnstone. "There are other thistle pastures than yours in this region."
"You fool!" came his wife's angry voice. She pounced forth on him. "D'ye think I am going to slave all my life in this old shack? If the Angel Gabriel came down and blew his trumpet in your ear, you would never wake up. Do you want me to bring out the molasses jug and break it over your head?'"'
"Not yit," said Foxy Mort. "If any more is said by you, I '11 go up a thousand a word, until I reach what the land is worth. Eight thousand is bespoken ; above that, there 's a thousand each for you and Bertha in what I'm askin'."
Mrs. Morton subsided, and John went into conference with his employer. Foxy Mort fixed his gaze upon some far-off castle in Spain, and seemed to enjoy the prospect. There was a long and serious conference among the investors. They were not only in dead earnest, but seemed to know what they were talking about, and the upshot was a proposition that brought all present into relations of mutual satisfaction. Johnstone tendered certified drafts for eight thousand to Morton and two of a thousand each to his wife and daughter, and Morton was as good as his word in conveying his well-oiled thistle pasture.
That evening he announced his intention of paying Uncle David a long-planned visit — he appeared to be glad to get away from the scene of his good fortune — and the women sat up most of the night figuring out a shopping orgie that would turn old friends and neighbors pale with envy.
For the next few days Morton was