"'Brown, Small & VanRiper, Hartford, Ct. Gentlemen: Inclosed find my check for $27,000, to be used in the matter we discussed the other day. Kindly send papers to my lawyers, Reed, Reed, Perkins & Reed.

"'Am sorry I cannot more largely avail myself of the privilege so kindly extended me. At the present, however, my capital is tied up in various enterprises, and I am really crowding myself to raise this. Thanking you for past favors, etc.'—Here's the last. 'Mr. Joseph Yates, Rehobeth Beach, Delaware. Dear old Joe: Sorry to hear of your undeserved bad luck. While not exactly a financial Napoleon these days, I am able to accommodate you, and glad to do so. Have not forgotten the time you helped me out of a mighty tight place. Draw on me for $10,000 through the Marine. Take your time for repayment. If this is not enough, let me know. Kind regards to the wife—and take care of yourself, old man. In haste, your old friend——'

"Pound those off, Miss Stanley. Jim"—this to the silently industrious bookkeeper—"how much have we got at the Marine?"

After swift search in a little black book the bookkeeper looked up—"Seven thousand six hundred-twenty, sir," he replied respectfully.

"I'll give you enough to make out ten thousand to honor old Joe's draft," ruminated Mitchell, twirling the safe-knobs deftly. "You take it round and deposit it. On your way back jack Stevens up about those plows. Tell him if he don't get 'em round on time he loses one big customer—and that's me." Counting out the required amount, he stuffed the slight remainder in his pocket, slammed shut the safe, signed his letters briskly, and took up his hat. "Come on, Thompson, we'll be off."

"Now then," he resumed, in the elevator, "I've got to go down to slip No. 4, to see about some stuff I'm shipping to Mexico. Walk or ride? It's only a little ways."

"Let's walk, then," said Steve. "You can tell me about the boats as we go. That's what takes my eye. What's that big one coming in?"

"Rotterdammer. The one behind her is a coaster—Menacho, Puig & Co. Look up stream—there's a big Cunarder just swinging out. Hello, there's the Rosenthal and Montoya stuff now!"

A string of heavily-laden drays moved slowly down the rock-paved street. "Lights out! Protect yourself!" thought Steve. "I feel a presentiment that there'll be a heavy transportation bill on that stuff and that my friend won't have enough cash to settle it. Perhaps he will accept a temporary accommodation from me. Thompson, he pays the freight—nit!"

This unworthy suspicion proved unfounded. As they watched the rumbling wagons they were joined by one of businesslike appearance and swift step.

"Going down, Mitchell? That's your Argentine freights, I suppose? At least, I recognize your foreman."

Mitchell introduced him: Mr. Archibald, of the Bowring and Archibald line, in the coastwise and southern trade.

"Just going down to your place, Archie. We were going to walk, but if you're in a hurry——"

"Not at all. Have a cigar?" said the pseudo-Archibald urbanely.

"You can show my young friend over the boats, if you will," said Mitchell. "Rank inlander, Thompson. Rather look at a boat than eat. Been talking boat, boat, boat to me ever since we left the office."

"Happy to do so," said the merchant-mariner. "You'd better take a little trip with us, Mr. Thompson—say a run down to Havana. Any friend of Mr. Mitchell's——"

A young man came tearing across the street at a great rate. "Mitchell!" he shouted. "Mitchell! Look here!" He thrust a telegram into Mitchell's hand. "Just reached me by A.D.T. from the Carlton. Let me have some money, will you? About three thousand. Just got time to catch the next Pennsylvania train and make connections at Baltimore."

Mitchell spread out the yellow slip and read it aloud. "H'm! 'Ponce de Leon St Augustine Florida John E Bickford The Carlton New York—Come at once Father worse Doctor orders to Egypt Jennie.' Why sure, my boy. Here's what cash I got, and I'll give you a check. Too bad, too bad! By George, I hope your dad pulls through. What! Blame it, I mean dammit, I've come off without my checkbook. Got yours, Archie?"

Archie patted his pockets. "No, I haven't. Left it in the office. Got a couple of hundred cash you're welcome to, though."

The young man looked nervously at his watch. Mitchell turned hesitatingly toward Thompson. But the Westerner did not wait for an appeal to his generosity. He volunteered, eager to oblige a man of such large affairs as his substantial friend.

"I'll write you a check. You can just run in to the nearest bank with me and indorse it, Mr. Mitchell. Sorry I haven't the cash with me." Thus Steve, his clumsy innocence eluding the toils with all the grace of an agile hippopotamus.

The grafters glanced at each other. But Mitchell was equal to the emergency.

"No need to bother you, Mr. Thompson, thanks, all the same," he said suavely. "Archibald, just give me what you've got and I'll run over to Jersey City with John. Traffic Manager of the Pennsylvania is a friend of mine. If he's in his office I'll get it of him. Otherwise, I'll start John on, and wire balance to him at St. Augustine when I get back. Wait a minute, John. Got plenty of time to catch the boat. Look here, Archie—you're not busy, are you?"

"I'm always busy," said the shipowner gayly, "but no more so to-day than any other day. Why?"

"Oh, well, you can get off. I promised Thompson, here, to do him the honors, and now I've got to help John out. Oh, you two are not acquainted, are you? Excuse me! Mr. Archibald, Mr. Bickford—Mr. Thompson, Mr. Bickford. Mr. Bickford's father was a dear old friend of mine. Once very wealthy, too, but has had reverses. Bless me, how I do ramble on! Old age, sir, old age! Osler was half right. Now, Archie, 'phone up to your office that you're unavoidably detained and all the rest of it, like a good fellow, and take my place as cicerone. Never mind your dinky little boats—take him up and show him the big fellows—the ocean greyhounds."

"But," objected Archibald, "I've got to go down to the office to get some money. You've broke me, you shanghaier."

"So I have, so I have!" He peeled off a hundred-dollar-bill, ignoring Steve's protest. "That enough? I'll fix John up, some way. You're at Mr. Thompson's orders. Mind, his money isn't any good. I pay for both of you. Wish it was more, but you see how I'm hooked up. You'll have a better time with a young fellow like Archie than you would with an old fogy like me, anyhow. Here, we'll be left!" He made for the ferry slips with the anxious Bickford.

Thus did the wily Mr. Mitchell justify his headship. In these profuse strains of unpremeditated art, apparently the merest of rambling commonplace, he had plainly conveyed to his henchmen that, though foiled by the countryman's straightforward single-mindedness, they were not to adopt a policy of scuttle, but persevere in the paths of manifest destiny to benevolent assimilation; at the same time adroitly extricating his embarrassed lieutenant from a very present predicament. Because "Archibald" felt a certain reluctance about accompanying Steve to Pier Number 4 in the capacity of owner, for the sufficiently obvious reason that he might be summarily kicked off. Such a contretemps might give cause for conjecture even in one so green as his companion, reflected Archie.

He saluted with easy grace. "Orders, captain? Happy to oblige. My friend's friend is my friend."

Steve saw the big steamships. Thence, at his artless suggestion, they went to Brooklyn Bridge. Followed rides on the Subway and Elevated, a viewing of skyscrapers and such innocent and exhilarating delights. Noting Archibald's well-groomed and natty appearance, Steve naively asked his advice in matters sartorial, purchasing much raiment and leaving an order with a fashionable tailor. But, after an amazing dinner at an uptown house of call, Archibald took the reins into his own guidance, and led him forth to quite other distractions—in the agricultural quarter of the city, where that popular and ever-blooming cereal, wild oats, is sown by night and by day.

Behind them the plausible Mr. Mitchell and his old friend's son held high commune.

"Why, the lantern-jawed, bug-eyed, rubber-necked, double-jointed, knock-kneed, splay-foot, hair-lipped, putty-brained country Jake! Did you see him sidestep that?" demanded the aggrieved Bickford, forgetting, in his pique, his stricken father. "What you want to do to him is to sandbag him, give him knockout drops, stab him under the fifth rib! He's too elusive—the devil-sent——" He was proceeding to further particulars when Mitchell checked him.

"I want you to bear in mind that this is no strong-arm gang, and I'm neither dip nor climber." His emphasis was withering. "My credit is involved in this affair now, and I'm going through with it. If he'd had the dough with him he'd handed it out just like he did the check. He floundered out through pure, unadulterated innocence. I'll land him yet. Next time I won't leave the shirt to his back. I tried him with covetousness. I've tried him with distress. Now I'll tempt him with a business opportunity—one that he'll have to have cash for. Keep your eye on your uncle. He'll see you through."

The next day being Sunday, Mitchell took the cowboy to the Speedway, and back through Central Park, in an auto, frankly hired.

"I can hardly afford to set up one," he confided. "And anyway, I haven't much leisure. Of course, when a good fellow like you comes along I can take a day off, once in a way. But generally my nose is down to the grindstone."

On their way home he pointed out a fine building, ornamented with a "To Let" sign in the window. "There's a place I used to own, Thompson," he said. "Belongs to a friend of mine, young Post. One of the best families—but, poor fellow, he's in trouble now." He dismissed the subject with a benevolent sigh. "Would you like to go in and look at it? The caretaker will show it to you. He'll think you're a prospective buyer. You needn't tell him so, but then again you needn't tell him any different. There's no harm and it's well worth seeing."

Thompson, nothing loth, agreed. It was a fine house, as Mitchell had guessed.

"Gracious!" said Steve, when the inspection was over. "What's such a house worth?"

"I sold it for forty thousand. It's worth more now."

Steve gazed at him wide-eyed. "My! I shouldn't have thought it worth that much." (It was, in fact, worth a great deal more.)

"It's the ground that makes it cost so," explained Mitchell. "That's why the value has increased. The house itself is not worth as much as when I had it, but land values are coming up by leaps and bounds. Young man, the ground valuation alone of the six square miles adjoining Central Park is more than the value of all real estate in the great commonwealth of Missouri. And it is going higher every year."

"I don't understand it," said Steve, much impressed.

"Do you understand the philosophy of an artesian well? Yes? Then you understand this. Every farm cleared, every acre planted, every mine developed, every baby born, enhances the value of all city property—and New York's got the biggest standpipe. The back country soaks up the rain and it is delivered conveniently at our doors through, underground channels, between the unleaking walls that confine its flow; our price on the surplus you have to sell and our price on the necessities you buy. Every city taps this flow, be the pipe large or small; and as I said before, New York has the biggest gusher.

"We've got the money. So you may do the work and we allow you to get enough to sustain life, and just as little more as possible. Sell at our price, buy at our price—we've got you coming and going. You can't get away.

"You're poor, you take what you can get to pay your debts. That keeps down prices on what you sell. You've got families, you've got to play. Yes, yes, quite right, the rules are not entirely fair; we'll revise them to-morrow, maybe, some time. Let you do it? Tut, tut, no, no! Why, you object to 'em! That won't do at all. Let the rules be revised by their friends and beneficiaries, to-morrow, next day, by and by; busy to-day, stockholders' meeting, dividend declared, good-by! You're virtually peons. Fourth of July, elections and war-times you're the sovereign people, Tommy this and Tommy-rot; but for all practical purposes you're peons.

"We're rich, we can afford a scratch-my-back-and-I'll-scratch-yours tariff that keeps our prices up arbitrarily, that takes fifty dollars out of your pockets to put in ours for every dollar it puts into the national treasury."

"If the tariff was repealed," said Steve diffidently, "if we raised money for the National Government, just as we do for county government——"

"Hush-sh!" said Mitchell, shocked. "That's High Treason—that's Unconstitutional! Some one will hear you! Then there's another. You sell at a sacrifice to pay your debts. If we get in debt that's exactly what we won't do. A poor man goes broke, but a rich man goes bankrupt. Ever think of that?

"That baby I spoke of will grow up, produce corn, cotton, cattle or copper, maybe—but the net result of his life will be to enrich the rich. If, by any means—industry, opportunity, invention, speculation, dishonesty, chance or inheritance—he gets on top, then the workers will be working for him by the same law. The fact remains that every dollar's worth of betterment in the country increases the value of city property one dollar, without effort to the owner. A city is an artesian well. Take it from me, Thompson, a man of your ability ought to make connections and get your little tin pail under."



Chapter V

"A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome."

Thompson sat in his room alone, meditating on Mitchell, statesman and Political Economist. On the table lay his letter of introduction and his bad "Souvenir" dollar.

"The meeting will please come to order!" he said, rapping the table smartly. "The Gentleman from Montana has the floor."

"I move you, Mr. Chairman," said the Gentleman from Montana, "that the letter of introduction be laid upon the table, and that this House do now go into Committee of putting the other fellows in the Hole."

No objection being heard, this was done. Steve stared at the tabled letter with a puzzled frown.

"Gentlemen, the Chair awaits your pleasure," he announced, at last. "Have you any suggestions to make?"

The Gentleman from Montana again obtained recognition.

"Mr. Speaker, I see here present an ex-member, my alter ego, Mr. Reuben Rubber-Neck, who once parted with six months' wages on another man's game. Mr. Rubber-Neck is a graduate of the celebrated and expensive school of Experience, of which it is written that a large and influential class will learn of no other. As an ex-Member, he is entitled to the privilege of the floor. I, for one, would like to have his counsels at this juncture."

Thus appealed to, Mr. Rubber-Neck got stumblingly to his feet with a gawky and timid demeanor.

"Mr. Chairman, it is not a theory but a hell of a condition that confronts us," he said, uncertainly. "I think that we should use the letter so providentially er—um—provided to make friends with the mammon of righteousness. Two heads are proverbially better than one, if one is an Expert. It behooves us, for the sake of the near and dear kinsmen, the Mark brothers, that we should so bear ourselves toward our generous hosts as to make them feel that they have entertained a devil unawares. Avenge now the innumerable wrongs of me and my likes. Before deciding on our line of action, however, I should like to hear from a learned gentleman in our midst, whose brain is ever fertile in expedients. I refer to the only one of us who has been through college—in at the front door and out the back. I call on the representative of the class of Naughty-naughty!"

He sat down amid vociferous cries of "Hear! Hear!"

The Bookman arose gracefully. "While I thank the gentleman who has preceded me for his encomiums," he said, with deprecatory modesty, "yet I can lay no claim for scholastic honors, owing to an unfortunate difference of opinion with the Faculty in the scorching question of turning state's evidence concerning the ebullition of class feeling, in which I was implicated by a black eye or so. I fought the good fight, I kept the faith, but I did not finish my course. But to return to our sheep.

"In every crisis, I have always found precedent for action in the words of the immortal Swan of Avon. What does Will say? He says:

'Put money in thy purse!'

"Follows naturally the advice of the melancholy Dane, bearing directly on the case in hand:

'Let it work. 'For 'tis the sport to see the engineer Hoist with his own petard.'

"Again,

'Look on this picture, then on that! The counterfeit.'

"Where is that counterfeit, anyhow?" He took from his pocket a good silver dollar, compared it thoughtfully with the bad one on the table, and continued.

"What else? Why, this:

'Art thou not horribly afeared?... Could the world pick thee three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower?'

"Having thus pointed out the danger, he plainly indicates the remedy:

'Where shall I find one that will steal well? O! for a fine thief of the age of two-or-three and twenty! I am heinously unprovided.'

"Gentlemen, in my opinion we need three things. First, the services of a skillful and discreet silversmith. Second, a pair of eye-glasses fitted with a powerful microscopic lens, able to distinguish good from evil. Third, a confederate who can steal well, such as we can doubtless find in or about Broad Street. By these simple and feasible means we shall be enabled to whip-saw our redoubtable opponents or, to use the local term, 'give 'em the double-cross.'"

He sat down amid boisterous applause.

"The Watch-dog of the Treasury!" said Steve icily. The Watch-dog stood apologetically, twisting nervous fingers together. "It strikes me, Mr. Speaker," he stammered, "that my eminent colleague might aptly have quoted from the same high authority two maxims in praise of prudence. 'Discretion is the better part of valor,' he says, and also,

'He who fights and runs away Will live to fight another day.'

"It appears to me the part of prudence——"

Here he was howled down by disapproving groans.

"The Chair will take great pleasure in recognizing the Gentleman from New Mexico," suggested Steve, with a gracious nod.

Wildcat Thompson, cowboy, sprang to his feet; lithe, active, eager. Swiftness, alertness, poise, certainty were in every line of his splendid body. His was the assured, resourceful bearing of the man of action, whose hands have kept his head, contrasting sharply with the Miner's heavy and tentative slowness, the awkward self-consciousness of the Easy One, the Objector's furtive and apprehensive manner, or the Near-Collegian's languid affectation of dilettantism.

"Be a sport!" He threw out a hand, his confident voice ringing with decision. "We are seven!—(or at least we will be when we pick up a financier at Atwood's). Get together! Let us adopt our learned brother's ingenious device. Should fraud fail, we can always fall back on——

'the simple plan That each should take who hath the power. And he should keep that can.'

"As alternative, or, I should say, as reserve, I offer—this!" A swift gleam of silver and steel: he laid a cocked .45 beside the other exhibits.

"The sword of Brennus! Woe to the vanquished!" murmured the School-man, when the cheering had abated. "Mr. Chairman, the amendment is accepted."

The entire meeting then lit a cigarette.

The Chair arose, using the six-shooter as gavel. "Gentlemen, have you anything more to offer? If not will you hear the question? Is it the sense of this meeting that united we fall upon this infamous coalition with the jaw bone of an ass and get their money; dishonestly if we can, and if not, then by main strength and awkwardness? Those in favor of the motion will please rise. I am unanimous, and it is so ordered. This resolution will be spread all over the minutes, right off. The Chair will appoint as committee to get a move on, Mr. Stephen Thompson of Montana; the earnest Shakespearian student, Mr. Thompson-Stephen; Mr. Wildcat Thompson of New Mexico; and myself. Having no further use for a sucker or a quitter, the other two gentlemen may go to the devil, and I hereby stand adjourned."

So saying, he gathered up his resources and departed.

At a later hour Steve presented himself in a body to the senior Atwood, with his letter from the Judge as credentials.

"Bless my soul!" ejaculated that person, when he had read a few lines. His eyes dropped to the signature. "Oh—the Judge!" he said, enlightened, and read on, chuckling.

He wheeled his chair around. "Well, Mr. Thompson, what is it—fine or bail?" he queried.

"I want to borrow a man," Steve began mildly. Here he was interrupted. The ante-room door opened. One entered—no, floated in—faultlessly arrayed, with an air at once languid and gloomy.

"Wyatt!" said Atwood, cordially. "Man! You're good for sore eyes! What fair wind blows you here?"

Wyatt sank into a chair. "Doldwums. Nothing at all," he said listlessly. "Mewest chawnce, I assuah you. Fawct is, I was—er—howwidly boahed, y' know. It's no good. All of it!" He spread out his immaculate pink palm in a comprehensive gesture. "All wot!—Dinnahs and dawnces and bwidge, the hawse-show—and—ah—all the west of it.—Vahnity fawr, y' know. If you have whatevah you want diwectly, of cow'se you cawnt want anything you daunt have, y' know. Doocid unpleasant. I find myself like the boy that wanted to leah'n to shivah and shake, y' know. Needin' the excitement of what this fellah—ah—at Washington, y' know—Woosevelt!—of what Woosevelt calls the stwenuous life. Saht in the club thinkin' it ovah, and decided to sally fowth to seek adventuah——"

"Adventure! You?" Atwood threw back his head and roared.

"—adventuah. In a hansom," returned the new-comer placidly. "So the dwivah ahsked me 'Whah to?' y' know. I was feelin' nawsty enough, so I told him 'To pwugatowy!—like that! He was—ah—a vewy litewal-minded puhson." There was a faint flicker of amusement in his gray eyes. "He—ah—bwought me to the Stock Exchange. Aftah I got out, y' know, I wemembahed that you—ah—did something heah. So I thought I'd just wun ovah and see you." He relapsed into moody silence.

"You've come to the right shop, I do believe," said Atwood. "Mr. Thompson, let me make you acquainted with my old friend Wyatt."

"Chawmed, I'm suah!" muttered Wyatt, adjusting his monocle.

"You have probably heard of him," pursued Atwood. "He appears regularly in the Sunday Supplements as a Horrible Example—Anson Walworth Wyatt, nephew to his uncle. But for all he seems such a silly, supercilious ass, he's a good old chap at heart, a 'weal' lion in an ass-skin. Mr. Thompson, have I permission to share this letter with my friend?"

"Why not?" said Steve.

"This is a Western man's business letter," explained Atwood. The clubman listened with a well-bred stony stare.

"Aw!" he said. "How vewy extwaohdinawy!"

"Now, old fellow, Mr. Thompson was just about to negotiate the loan of a man from me when you came. Here we have the adventure seeking the man, and the man seeking the adventure. It sounds promising. Of course, I shall expect a commission both ways. Now give us your plans and specifications, Mr. Thompson."

"I want to borrow a young man, as I said before, of good appearance"—with a glance at Wyatt's sumptuous apparel—"and some little brains"—another and a sharper glance, "One who will obey orders if he breaks owners, who will stand without being tied, and who doesn't especially care whether school keeps or not. I would particularly request that he leave his money, his memory, acquired good habits, if any, and his conscience, in your safe-keeping till he is returned."

"That sounds like the makings of a pretty adventure, Wyatt," said Atwood, delighted, "Are you for loan, old chap?"

Wyatt laid his affectation aside. "That depends on the interest, the security, and length of the term. It certainly appears, from your very flattering description, that you were searching for me, Mr. Thompson." His eyes were dancing.

"Interest from the word Go. The security's all right, too, if you take a gun," said Steve reassuringly. "You might get a long term, but it can be avoided with luck and good management. I think the parties concerned will hardly make a complaint."

"You are not contemplating anything illegal, I trust?" Atwood was enjoying himself to the full.

"I don't know. Really hadn't given it much attention," returned the Committee, simply. "But now you mention it, I think probably I am."

"Will you allow my accomplice and myself to use your private room for executive session?" asked Wyatt.

* * * * *

"But why don't you have them arrested?"

"Arrested? O no!" cried Steve, in pained surprise. "That wouldn't be fair. That isn't done! Besides, don't you see, that wouldn't hurt their feelings like this?"

"I see," said Wyatt. "I'm your man. And I say, old chap, before I go back to my Cholly-talk again, advise me. Would I look any more idiotic, do you think, if I should suck my cane? I don't want to disappoint any one."

"I would not," said Steve. "You're too good to be true, without that."

"Wouldn't you naturally suppose," sighed Wyatt, "that people would know that no man could be as big a fool as I am, unless he did it on purpose? But they don't. They swallow it, hook, bob and sinker!"



Chapter VI

"If the bowl had been stronger My tale had been longer."

Steve entered Mitchell's office with the painful uprightness and precise carriage of one who has lunched not wisely but rather too well. His speech, too, was of ponderous brevity. The man of affairs chided him with fatherly kindness.

"This won't do, my boy—this won't do. I like you, Thompson. I'm sorry—I'm pained to see this. Don't go in for this sort of thing, or your good fortune will prove a curse in disguise."

Steve hung his head, muttering something incoherent about not being used to wine and that he'd soon get over it.

"Oh, young men will be young men, I suppose," sighed Mitchell tolerantly. "Tell you what. Archibald's going for a spin over to East New York. I'll just 'phone him to drop by on his way and take us along. Fresh air'll do you good."

Steve assented, and fell to poring over the immense wall map of New York with preternatural gravity.

But Mitchell's benevolent plan was doomed to be frustrated. Hardly had Archibald arrived and the employees been dismissed, when the sordid, busy, money-making city intruded in the person of Loring.

There were merry greetings all around. The artist was much pleased to renew his acquaintance with Thompson, to whom he had taken a fancy. Loring, it seemed, was an old friend of Archibald's and was promptly invited to make one of the party.

"Oh, I can't," demurred Loring. "And I hate to spoil sport, but I've got a good thing which must be put through to-night or not at all. I ran in to get Mitchell to handle it for me. I've got the opportunity, but not the wherewithal." He made the candid admission with a delightful smile.

"I fear that you are leaning on a mighty nearly broken reed," said Mitchell. "I'm all tied up in money matters this week. But spit it out, anyhow. I've got six or seven thousand loose. If it's more than that perhaps Archie can swing it—if it's a safe proposition."

"Safe as United States bonds, and good for thirty per cent, profit. Come back, Thompson!" Steve was making for the door, with apologies. "You're not in the way a bit. Sit down, man! Your six thousand won't be a starter, Joe. I've got some four thousand myself, in red, red gold. All I have in the world—wish it was more." His blithe insouciance was irresistibly charming.

"Get down to business, old fellow," said Archibald. "What's the lay?"

"This is all confidential, between gentlemen, you understand?" All nodded. "You know young Post is in hiding? Well, I've been in touch with him all along. He's tired of skulking and wants me to sell that house his mother left him, strictly on the Q.T. He's got a chance to slip away on a private yacht to-night. Said I could have all I could get over thirty thousand. It's worth fifty, at least. I know where I could get forty-five, but I dare not approach those people now, because they are unfriendly to Post and would make him trouble. Once he is safely away——" He waved his hand.

"That ought to be a good thing," said Archibald thoughtfully. "It rents for six thousand a year, and values going up. I've a good mind to go into it for a permanent investment. Let's see—he'd want spot cash, wouldn't he?"

"Naturally. Cash on the nail. He could hardly afford to be identified, you know."

"Can't raise that much to-day," said the shipowner. "Maybe, by borrowing from my partner, I could get enough to pool with you and Mitchell. What's your proposition? About cutting profits, I mean."

"I think I should have ten per cent. net, besides the proportionate earning of my four thousand—for giving you fellows the first chance. There's plenty would jump at it."

"That's fair enough," said Archibald. "Mr. Thompson, you will excuse us? Our trip will only be postponed. I'll have to fly around to rustle ready money. I'll see Bowring first."

"Hold on," said Mitchell. "Why don't you let my friend in on this? He's got the scads, and he's a good fellow."

"Oh, he would have to go and see the place," objected Archibald, his eye evidently on the main chance.

"No, he won't. We looked it over yesterday. I showed it to him because I used to live there. Don't be selfish, Archie. There's plenty of chances for you to make money. Get your pail, Thompson!"

"We-ll," said Archibald grudgingly. "So long as it's not sure that Bowring can spare me the money, let him take over a third if he wants to."

"Sure I do," grinned the prospective buyer, highly elated, "and much obliged to you, too, Mr. Archibald.

"That's all right," said that person gruffly. "Now then, Loring, come out of it! Time's flying. Where? When? How? Never saw an artist yet that could think on straight lines," he grumbled.

"All of you get your money, meet at Mitchell's rooms. I'll let Post know and join you there later. We'll wait till dark, get a tried and acquitted notary of my acquaintance, slip around to Post's lair after dark and do the deed. I'll stand a ripping dinner for the bunch out of my ten per cent. Put deed on record to-morrow morning. That'll give him start enough. Is that all clear?"

"Clear as a bell. I'm off!" said Archibald.

"Archie's a good sort, but he does hate to let a dollar get by him." The artist laughed indulgently. "I say, Thompson, did you see how he stuck on letting you have a whack at it?"

"Where do you bank?" inquired Mitchell. Steve told him where his money was deposited. Mitchell shook his head. "I was hoping we would go the same way, but I go uptown."

Ten minutes after they left the industrious bookkeeper returned with navvies and draymen, and removed the office furniture to parts unknown.

* * * * *

When the four financiers got together in Mitchell's room Steve proposed to continue his lessons in the fascinating game of bridge.

He drank freely and his game was the apotheosis of bumble-puppy. Archibald, his partner, was much irritated by his stupidity.

A bellboy came to the door. A gentleman in the parlor would like to see Mr. Thompson.

Mr. Thompson looked at the card. "Mr. A.W. Wyatt," he announced sneeringly. "You can tell Mr. A.W. Wyatt, if he wants to see me, he can just naturally mosey himself up here."

"Not the A.W. Wyatt—Anson Walworth Wyatt?" asked Loring. "I know him—I mean, I know him by sight."

"I believe it is," said Steve with surly indifference. "If you know him, you know an overbearing jabberwock. He's head devil of the push that bought the Copperbottom and I don't like his style even a little bit. He seems to think I'm the dirt under his feet. I'll show him. I know what he wants, and that's the other fourth of my mine." He thumped the table viciously. "He'll pay for all he gets from me, I'll tell you that."

Mr. Wyatt was ushered in; irreproachable, flawless, exquisite. ("It's him!" breathed Loring.) He remained standing, hat in hand, fitted his glass with vacuous care and surveyed the room with deliberately insolent scrutiny. Thompson kept his seat, fairly prickling with antagonism. The others rose with exemplary good breeding.

"Aw!" said the newcomer, after an eloquent pause.

"Mistah—er—Townsend, cawn I have a few moments of quite pwivate convehsation with you?"

"No, you cawnt!" retorted Thompson truculently. "Sit down, boys. Sit down, I say! These gentlemen are my friends. Anything you got to say? If there is, say it. And my name's Thompson, if you please."

"Aw!—what an extwemely wemahkable ahttitude!" Wyatt fixed his monocle on the offending miner with bland and exasperating condescension. "Weally, you quite intewest me, y' know! I appwoach you, quite civilly, y' know, with an offah decidedly to youah ahdvahntage, Mistah—ah—Tomlinson, and you tweat it——"

"Thompson!! By Heavens, you say Tomlinson again and I'll pound your face into shape!" roared the misnamed one, jumping up. Mitchell and Loring vainly tried to quiet him.

"Weally, I shall be obwiged to wefeh you to my lawyehs——" Wyatt began.

"Refer me—you animated outrage—you libel! Turn me loose, you fellows! I don't want to see you or your durn lawyers! I know what you want, well enough. You want to bamboozle me into selling my interest in the Copper-bottom for less than it's worth. Here's my last word to you—Mr.—ah—White! If you want my fourth at forty thousand, to-day, all right. It's worth more—it's paid from the grass-roots down. But that'll make me the round six figures, and that's enough. I can make money—I know my little way about," he boasted, with insufferable complacency.

"Nobody left me my pile! Put up or shut up!"

"Mr. Wyatt," said Mitchell, "pardon me, but may I suggest that you call at a more favorable time?" He made, behind Thompson's back, the motion significant of an emptied glass.

"Aw! I see—I see! Thawnks awfully for the hint. Good-evening, gentlemen—and—ah—Mistah Tomkins!"

Thompson broke away, shaking his fist in Wyatt's face. "Say that again and I'll brain you—pawdon me, I should say, I'll smash your head in. Thompson's my name—T-h-o-m-p-s-o-n, T h o m p s o n! And you trade with me, now or never!"

"You see, gentlemen?" Wyatt appealed. "Mistah—ah—Tawmson, I offahed you twenty-five thousand on my own wesponsibility, as a—ah—business pwoposition. My—ah—associawates in this undehtaking aw all fwiends, quite congenwial, y' know, and I felt suah they would sanction that. I do not cyah to go futheh lengths without—ah—a confewence with them, as I believe that pwice quite ahmple, y' know. But if I could awwange fo' an option——"

"You pay me twenty thousand, cash, in this room, at eight o'clock to-night, and I'll give you an option for one week at forty thousand," persisted the morose miner. "After that, the price goes up."

"Fifty pehcentum down on an option! This is uttehly unpwecedented, y' know. I must wemonstwate, weally!"

"It's all the option you'll get from me, you jackanapes." He snapped contemptuous fingers under Wyatt's nose.

Wyatt buttoned his coat with dignity. "Weally, this pahsses all bounds!" he ejaculated. "Gentlemen, I accept this—ah—puhson's offeh. I cannot enduah such an associwate. You ah all witnesses. May I ahsk you-ah names, and may I wequest youah pwesence to-night, both to ensuah the—ar—fulfillment of the vehbal contwact which you have heahd, and to pwevent the wepetition of this scandalous scene?" He opened the door. "Aw wevoah, gentlemen!" By this time he was in the elevator. From this coign of vantage he sent a Parthian shaft.

"Till eight o'clock, Mistah—ah—Tomkinson!"

The three held the raging Thompson with some mutual dishevelment. They soothed him with flattery, stayed him with flagons, for he yearned for blood with a great yearning.

"Listen to your friends, boy," urged Mitchell. "Take his money, and don't do anything you'll be sorry for. Make out your papers and pay no attention to what he says. Come, brace up! It'll be time for dinner in a jiffy. Promise us not to drink any more, and not to make any trouble, or we'll 'phone him not to come."

Steve allowed himself to be pacified at last, but he regarded his mitigators with a malignant eye.

"Here's what I owe you on bridge, Mitchell—twenty-three dollars," he said sullenly. "Archibald can settle with Loring. I don't want no dinner—I'm going to sleep."

"Oh, come on now, that's a good fellow," purred Mitchell, picking up the two bills and the coins. "Say, old man—you haven't turned counterfeiter, have you?" he said good-naturedly. "This one's N.G."

Steve took it clumsily. "It's no such thing," he blurted. "Good as gold. Take it or leave it. I don't care."

"Oh, very well," said Mitchell, humoring him. Then he reflected. The indications were that their projected coup might fail if Steve's surly humor kept up. Why not improve the shining hour? The coin was obviously bad.

"I'll take it before it gets you into trouble," he insinuated.

Steve lurched to his feet, thrusting an undecorative face over the table. "You think' it's bad?" he queried darkly. "You think I'm a fool?" He flung a packet of bills on the table. "Cover that, if you dare," he said. "There's the money for the Post place—ten thousand dollars. It says that's a good dollar. Put up or shut up!"

"You'll lose your money!" warned Mitchell. "Then you'll say I took advantage of you."

"I know what you think," said Steve shrewdly. "You think I'm drunk, but I'm not. I know a good thing when I see it. Don't you—don't you lose no sleep about me. I'm—I'm all right, you bet! Now what'll you do or take water?" he fleered.

Surreptitiously Loring had tried the coin with his penknife during this controversy. The metal was quite soft—the knife left a great scar, which he flashed at Mitchell.

"Well—if you insist," said Mitchell reluctantly. He counted out ten one-thousand-dollar bills. "Who'll be the judge?"

"Anybody. Archie. I've got you skinned a mile anyway."

"I am sorry, Mr. Thompson," said Archibald, "but this dollar seems to be pewter, or something of that general description. Aw, give him back his money, Mitchell—he's drinking.

"I won't!" said Mitchell stubbornly. "He forced me into it. He wouldn't have given it back to me if I'd lost."

"Sure I wouldn't," assented Steve. "I'm no boy. I play for keeps, me. Don't be so fast, if you please. This money ain't won yet. Cut into that dollar! I was from Missouri before ever I saw Montana."

"Cut it, Loring," said Mitchell. "Show him!"

Loring scratched it with the penknife point. "You see? soft as cheese—rotten," he said. And then the knife struck something hard. A chill crept over him. Stupefied, he scraped the base metal back, revealing a portion of an irrefutably good dollar.

The dismayed rascals looked up. In Thompson's hand a large, businesslike gun wavered portentously from one head to the other.

"Go on!" he admonished. His tone was not particularly pleasant. "Peel her off! Yah! You puling infants! You cheap, trading-stamp crooks!" He raked off the money. "Be tran-tranquil! You doddering idiots, I'd shoot your heads off for two bits I Try to rob a countryman, will you? Why, gentle shepherds all, I've been on to such curves as yours ever since Hec was a pup! You and your scout Loring and your Bickford and your Post!" he scoffed. "Don't open your heads. Bah! Here, you skunks!" He threw an ostentatiously bad dollar on the table. "Take that, and break even if you can. That patronizing half-baked tailor's dummy that called me out of my name will be back bimeby, with his pockets full. I'd like to see him taken down a peg, but I dassent spoil the sale of my mine. Tell him I'm in bed, full, but'll be out in an hour or so. He'll come again to buy me out. Hates me like poison, he does. If you can get him to bite, go it! But I doubt if you'll find even that saphead as rank as you three wise guys. Anyway, I don't want to see him while I feel this way. My head aches, and I suppose there's some sort of law against shooting the likes of him—or you. I'm leavin' for another hotel, right now. Don't you fellows bother me if you value your hides. If you can skin, that puppy, why, sic 'em, Towse! and the devil take the hindmost! Oh, you Smart Alecks!"

He backed out with a traditional wiggle of his fingers.

It is to be regretted that the stringent regulations of the postal authorities will not permit us any report of the heart-to-heart talk that followed his departure, other than the baldest summary. It was marked by earnestness, sincerity, even by some petulance, interspersed with frank and spirited repartee. Mutual recrimination resulted.

Subdued and chastened, Mr. Mitchell was reduced to the ranks; Loring, by virtue of his own and Mitchell's vote, replacing him. Archibald's preference was for a third person still—namely, himself—and he acquiesced with ill grace.

They had but little over ten thousand dollars remaining for the return match; and this, as Loring pointed out with just indignation, would only put them even. They knew that Wyatt would have at least twice that much with him. So they scurried forth and made such good use of the scant time left them, by borrowing, by squeezing both Bickford and the hard-working bookkeeper, and by resource to certain nest-eggs laid by for case of extreme urgency (known among themselves as "fix money"), they scraped together some six thousand more. The "ripping" dinner went untasted. They were hardened, but human.

All ravages of carking care were smoothed away, and they were disposed in luxuriant and contented ease when Wyatt came.

"Aw, gentlemen, I am punctual, you see!" he announced gayly. "It is weally vewy kind of you to be so obliging—I'm suah. Is the—ah—mining puhson in?"

Mr. Loring, speaking for the trio, affably regretted that their young friend was not, in fact, at his best during Mr. Wyatt's previous call. They had remonstrated with him for his injurious conduct. At present he was sleeping off the effects of his slight exhilaration: they thought it would not be at all judicious to disturb him: they felt sure that, on awakening, he would prove amenable to reason. Meanwhile, the night was young; if Mr. Wyatt cared to join them in a friendly rubber they would be delighted.

"Chawmed, I'm suah!" said Wyatt. "I do not desiah any contwovewsy with that vewy wuffianly puhson while he is—ah—wuffled. So I shall wait and shall be happy to join you."

The score was close; it was only through ingenious manipulation by their opponents that Wyatt and his partner were forced to win a small sum.

"Weally, gentlemen," drawled Wyatt, looking at his watch, "I shall be fowced to leave you. I have an engagement at eleven, and I weally feah ouah Mr. Townshend will be, as I might say, hors de combat foh the night. I have to thawnk you fow a vewy agweeable evening, nevahtheless."

He was carelessly sweeping the money into his pocket when Mitchell, his partner, checked him.

"I beg your pardon, but is that not a bad dollar?" he said.

"Oh, no mattah—no consequence at all, I assuah you," said Wyatt liberally. He would have pocketed the piece, but Loring, who had paid it, gave him another, and flung the slighted coin over to Mitchell.

"If you're so set on this dollar being bad," he said angrily, "I'll bet you what you dare it's not bad."

"Done with you for twenty!" Mitchell covered it promptly.

Loring drew out a handful of bills. "Here you are. Any one else want any of this?" he inquired captiously.

Archibald shook his head and laughed. Wyatt screwed his monocle into his eye, regarded both sides of the coin attentively, and laid it down.

"Quite bad, I assuah you," he said. "I should pwonounce it about the wohst specimen extahnt."

"Maybe you'd like to bet on it?" said Loring, flaunting the big bills.

Wyatt was evidently nettled. "Weally, you aw wong—I assuah you," he said stiffly.

"If you aw—pawdon me—quite able to lose that money without—ah—inconvenience I am weady to covah it, at least, as fah as what I have with me goes."

"Done!" said Loring. This was not so bad, after all.

"How much?... Aw! Seventeen thousand. Exactly. The bet is made, gentlemen. I—ah—propose that we wing the bell foh the pwopwietah and, shahl we say, the clahk, to act as judge and stakeholdeh."

"That will be satisfactory," said Loring. "Allow me, in turn, to make a suggestion, Mr. Wyatt. Put the money in your billbook, hand it to the stakeholder, and let him give it, unopened, to the winner. Of course, you will first take out your other money. There is no need for them to know that more than a trivial sum is at stake. We do not want to court unpleasant notoriety."

"Quite twue! An excellent suggestion," said Wyatt gravely. He proceeded to put it in effect.

The summoned dignitaries arrived, the situation was explained, and Wyatt, handing the money to the proprietor and the questionable dollar to the clerk, requested judgment.

The clerk looked at the coin, rubbed it, rang it. It gave out a dull and leaden sound.

"Bad, beyond a doubt," he said.

"Try it with your knife," said Loring confidently.

The clerk complied. By mischance he bore on too hard. The knife went through to the table.

A sound of mirth swept to them. With horror frozen on their faces, the three rascals were aware of Thompson, leaning in the doorway—unmistakably sober, given up to reprehensible levity, holding out a bright tin pail with an expectant air.

Let us give even the devil his due. For Mitchell laughed.



THE END