I haven't heard that kind of entreaty on your lips, Flint, since the year of the big coal strike, when you prayed God the gun-men might 'get' the strikers before they could organize.

Come, come, man, brace up! Your book will turn up all right; and even if it doesn't there's no cause for alarm.

It would take a man of extraordinary acumen to read _your_ hieroglyphics! Cheer up, Flint.

There's really nothing to excite you." The Billionaire thus adjured, sat down and tried to calm his agitation.
"Rotten luck, eh ?" he queried.

"But after all, Herzog is likely to find the book.