Читать книгу The Saint of the Speedway онлайн

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“How’s oil?” he asked quietly, as the other remained silent.

“Just about the same.” Ivor laughed in his short way. “Oh, it’s there all right. It’s there plenty. The Alsek valley’s full of it—when we can reach it. That’s one of the things makes me feel bad for this place. When we strike it, as we’re sure to, the old gold boom that bred this city won’t be any sort of circumstance.”

“When’ll that be?”

Burns’ eyes were shrewdly inquiring. It was his business to be well-informed.

“Any old time, maybe a month, maybe two years.” McLagan shook his head. “You can’t just say. But two years from now is our limit. That’ll make a seven-year prospect.”

“I see.” Burns nodded and glanced round. The door had opened to admit the first arrival of the boarders. “Well, we need it. There’s some gold flowing in slowly from the country. But things are dead flat, and I can’t even begin to guess where the folks collect the dollars spent at the Speedway every night. Max, there, tells me he’s looking to a big spending winter, but I don’t see how he figures it. Howdy, Tilbury,” he nodded at the new arrival. “Where’s your partner, Allison?”

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