"Promising to marry her," he mused; "that was the worst mistake. I had to do it, of course, to get at old Pearson, and to get at Palmer, and for that matter I was crazy enough about her for a while to promise anything, but I was a fool not to look further ahead. It's only fools, anyway, who say, 'Let's cross that bridge when we get to it.' I suppose a more dangerous proverb was never coined. In plain English, all it means is that we're too lazy to take a look ahead to see if there's a bridge there at all. Yes, that was my mistake. Given a hundred thousand and my start, I was ready to promise anything, and now there's so much ahead I never dreamed of then, marrying her seems absolutely out of the question. Who would ever have foreseen, though, that she'd develop this spasm of virtue? If she'd been what I thought she was--and what I had every reason for thinking she was--I imagine things could have been fixed up easily enough. I wonder whether--"

Abstractedly, as he crossed towards the park, he had paused for a pa.s.sing victoria. As the carriage pa.s.sed, he noticed that its only occupant was a girl, her slender figure clothed in deep black, and glancing up, he was just in time to receive Miss Sinclair's friendly bow. Raising his hat, he pa.s.sed on and entered the park.

"The devil!" he muttered. "Coincidences are queer things." And with a shrug of his shoulders he turned his thoughts in the direction of the day's plans.

Ten minutes later he entered the Equitable Building, and turned sharp to the left where the doors leading into the big ground floor office suite bore the inscription, "Gordon and Randall; Investment Securities."

Confident in himself as he was, firm believer as he had been from the first in the destinies of himself and his firm, even he still felt a trifle awe-struck at the wonder of it all. Only a few months ago and he had been proud of his little two room and a ticker establishment, proud of the fact that he had a stock clerk, a stenographer and an office boy, proud that he was slowly piling up his modest profits, regarding a five hundred share order with veneration--and now--the huge modern office lay outspread before him, clean, light, s.p.a.cious, the delicate tracery of steel work taking the place of old-time part.i.tion and creaking door. To the right, occupying more than half the whole floor s.p.a.ce was the huge "cage," with its ordered ranks of busy bookkeepers, cashiers, order clerks, margin clerks, telephone operators and messengers; in front, the pleasant room reserved for the firm's customers, where the casual investor might drop in for a moment to read at a glance the long rows of quotations on the board, and where the leisurely professionals gathered daily from ten to three to sit and smoke in the big cushioned armchairs, basking pleasantly in the sunshine, and listening to the whirring tickers as they sang their two songs, one merry and cheerful--up, up,--click, click,--up, up,--the other sorrowful and full of discouragement,--down--click--down, down--click--away, way down, more margin, quick,--click, click,--down, down, still further down, down--and out. To the left lay the private offices of the firm; first, the luxurious ladies' room; then, in sequence, the room for ordinary private business, then Gordon's and Randall's private consulting-room, and last of all, the holy of holies, Gordon's own special office, cosy and homelike, where he could retire when he pleased and be as safe from intrusion or interruption as though he were a thousand miles away. All in all, it was small wonder that Gordon stood still for the briefest of moments, looking quickly to right and left with the glance of the general marshalling his forces in review before going into action. Then, with a momentary glow of just self-satisfaction, he turned into the first office on the left and hastened to his desk.

Field, his private secretary, had just finished sorting the mail, and stood waiting by the window while Gordon quickly ran through the letters that were left, checking, penciling, laying aside, with speed and despatch, and yet with due consideration and without haste; then he called Field to his side.

"Well, Bert," he said affably, "they seem to be mostly routine, don't they? These you can attend to, if you'll be so kind. These go to Mr.

Brown, and these I wish you'd give to Sumner, and ask him to look them up sometime before noon. I'll take them up with him directly after lunch. Now, how about Mr. Frost? Can he manage to get over here this morning without inconvenience?"

Field nodded. Latterly he had noticed that upon request people generally found that they were able without apparent inconvenience to get over to his employer's office at almost any time. "Yes, sir," he answered promptly, "I managed to see Mr. Frost personally, and he said that he'd be here sharp at half past ten."

"Thank you very much, Bert," said Gordon. "That's very good indeed. I think there's nothing more just now. I may ring a little later if I want you. If you will just keep on the lookout for Mr. Frost, and as soon as he comes show him right in."

Field nodded and withdrew, appearing again at the end of fifteen minutes to usher in Mr. William D. Frost, widely known as one of the three highest-priced mining experts in the United States. Mr. Frost, as usual, was true to his word, for the clock struck the half hour sharply just at the moment that his spectacled, benevolent face appeared in the doorway.

Gordon rose quickly. "My dear Frost," he cried, "I'm delighted to see you back. You look as fit as possible. Come right in and make yourself comfortable."

Frost shook hands, followed Gordon into the inner office, and took the proffered arm-chair which Gordon drew up in front of the pleasant warmth of the open fire. He was a short, stout man, whose round, ruddy face and twinkling eyes gave not the slightest indication of the really remarkable brain within. One might perhaps have cla.s.sed him as a traveling man, possibly as a prosperous manufacturer, as a long shot one might even have risked the guess that he had about him something of the magnetism of the successful politician, but the part of the mining expert scarcely seemed to fit. Leaning far back in his chair, legs crossed, the finger-tips of either hand touching one another, he threw Gordon a quick glance of inquiry. "All ready?" he queried, and then, as Gordon nodded, he began with characteristic directness and precision to speak.

"A," he said, much as if his whole subject had been neatly typewritten and docketed in his orderly brain, "Preliminary recapitulation, if we may so term it. And subdivision one of same, my part in the enterprise."

He paused for an instant, and then continued. "Six months ago you intrusted me with what we might designate as a kind of roving commission. My task was to locate for you, within the limits of North America, a genuine gold, silver or copper mine, or rather, to be perfectly explicit, not exactly a mine, but a claim or prospect, with such excellent possibilities attaching to it that one might easily make of it, with proper development, a first-cla.s.s producing and dividend paying proposition. In a word, what you wished me to find for you was a mine in embryo? Am I so far correct?"

Gordon nodded. "Absolutely correct," he answered good-humoredly. "No lawyer could state the facts more clearly, or more concisely."

Frost checked on the fingers of his left hand. "Subdivision two," he continued, "your responsibility in the matter. You were to pay all necessary expenses, give me a salary of two thousand dollars a month, and in addition, if I so desired, you were to allot to me one-fiftieth part of the capital stock of the company, if any such company was ever formed. That, I take it, is also correct?"

Gordon again nodded. "To the letter," he answered briefly.

Frost, with his left hand, made a little gesture of dismissal, as if mentally telling the stenographer that she might now return the papers to the safe.

"Very good," he said, "and now for part B. Written report of my investigations."

From his inner breast pocket he drew a packet of papers, and handed them to Gordon. "One," he said, "itemized expense account. Two, bill for services. Three, typewritten report of work done, one hundred and thirty-nine pages; and, four, condensed summary of results attained and conclusions reached, eleven pages. All of these, of course, to be gone over by you at your leisure, after which I shall be glad to discuss any points or to answer any questions you may care to ask."

Gordon laid the papers carefully on his desk. "Most excellent," he cried. "If all the world had your ideas of system, Frost, it wouldn't be such an infernally haphazard sort of place as it is. You've been more than good to take so much trouble. And now, as I'm apparently in for a pretty busy week, suppose we take advantage of the opportunity, and, entirely apart from your report, have you give me in a general way a little account of how things have gone."

Frost nodded his a.s.sent. "I antic.i.p.ated that you would in all probability make such a request," he answered, "and we may accordingly"--he tapped the third finger of his left hand--"proceed to C, brief verbal summary of my investigations."

He paused, with the cautious hesitancy of a man given to much thought before putting his ideas into words, while Gordon perforce restrained his impatience as best he might. At length Frost broke the silence.

"Of course, Mr. Gordon," he said, "you understand that mining forecasts are about the most uncertain things in an uncertain world, but, so far as I can tell, I've had really rather remarkable success.

You'll find all this in the report, of course, but the situation, in just a word, is this: During my trip I've looked into over two hundred claims and prospects. In all but fifteen or twenty I found, right at the start, some radical defect; something wrong in the size or the location of the mine, or in the quality of the mineral. Of those remaining, I made, of course, a far more extended examination, and the result is that I have three propositions on which I am quite willing to stake my professional reputation. One is a copper mine in Arizona, one is a silver mine in British Columbia, and the third is a copper mine at the lake."

Gordon's eyes gleamed. "Three!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Well, that's certainly good enough. And which of the three do you consider the one best bet?"

Frost's forehead wrinkled doubtfully. "Not to be too discouraging, Mr.

Gordon," he answered, "I ought to say that in the case of all three there are certain disadvantages to be considered, and certain obstacles to be overcome. Take the Arizona mine. The price is exorbitant, to start with; there's a large amount of construction work to be done under unfavorable conditions; I'm not sure but what, considering that it's a low grade proposition, at best, the cost of production would run fairly high; and then, too, there seems to be a possibility of serious labor troubles out that way before long, which, while probably not a determining factor, ought still to be reckoned with."

Gordon laughed. "Yes," he said, with irony, "just to start with, that does sound a little discouraging. Haven't you anything better than that to say for the others?"

Frost sighed. "Better--or worse; I don't know which," he answered.

"The silver mine has really caused me a great deal of anxiety. The deposit itself is wonderfully, almost incredibly, rich. One of the most interesting problems, purely from a geological standpoint, that I think I have ever seen. The truth about it is that it's totally undeveloped, and it's practically an impossibility to predict anything about the depth and extent of the deposit. As a straight mining proposition, it's easily the biggest gamble of the three, but really nothing more than a gamble. If, however--" he paused for a moment, and then continued apologetically: "This is, of course, entirely outside my province, but if the mine is to be looked at at all from the stock market point of view, and not entirely on its intrinsic merits, then the extreme richness of the surface deposit is so spectacular that I should judge that would be a strong point in the mine's favor."

Gordon smiled. "Sometimes," he said softly, "even in the case of a perfectly legitimate enterprise like this, people will insist on looking at it merely as a market venture. It's a curious thing, Frost, isn't it?"

Frost, feeling sure that he understood Gordon perfectly, smiled also.

"Yes," he a.s.sented, "it is. So many people nowadays want to live without working, and, as a result, they get worked."

Gordon laughed delightedly. "That's good, Frost," he cried, "very good, indeed. I must remember that. But to get back to business, how about the copper mine at the lake?"

Frost at once resumed his wonted gravity. "The copper mine at the lake, if we could get it, Mr. Gordon"--he lowered his voice confidentially--"I believe to be far and away the best of the lot.

It's really exceedingly interesting. You know, yourself, of course, that the only ground at the lake not already taken up is south of Octagon County, down where the Batavian and the Anona and all those properties are located, or else north as far as Seneca. Mining men have always disagreed, and still do disagree, as to what becomes of the Onondaga lode when it dips. Personally I have always believed that somewhere about the locality of the Batavian was the place to strike the lode, so, on my way west, I stopped there first of all, without, I must confess, finding much that interested me. The Seneca theory I've never been a believer in, and I hardly think I should have stopped there at all except that I wanted to do a thorough job. As a result, however, I'm afraid I've got to admit that I've been wrong, and that Paine and those other fellows have been right. It happened like this: I got in with a man named Peters out there, and got to know him pretty well, too. His own claim is a rather fair one; nothing startling; just a good, likely claim; but the one adjoining his is the jewel. They're all talking about it out there, and I got information enough, and saw samples enough, to convince me that that's the mine we want. But--and I'm sorry to say it's a big But--the claim is owned by an old fellow named Mason, a man of character and intelligence, but half crazy over the mine. It's meat and drink, body and soul, wife and child, to him, and he's absolutely fixed against parting with it, even though it's clear to every one but himself that he can never develop it alone. So there's where we stand. My advice would be that if you can get Mason's claim by hook or crook, you want it; it's the best of the three. If you actually can't get it, try the silver mine, unless you're unwilling to run the risk of losing your market reputation by getting your friends into a gamble that may go wrong. If you have that feeling about it, think over the Arizona proposition pretty carefully before you decide on it; it's safe, but hardly immensely profitable, I think.

Do I make myself clear?"

Gordon thought a moment. "Perfectly," he said at length, "except in one particular. You speak of getting Mason's claim by hook or crook.

Just what do you mean by that?"

Frost looked a trifle uncomfortable. "Well," he said at last, "we none of us like to own up to making failures, but I feel that somehow I ought to have done better with Mason. It may be all fancy, but I think the right man could have put the thing through. It's like this: Mason's got a pretty daughter, and there's a young fellow named Harrison who works with Mason who's sweet on her. Now, I guess, when you come right down to it, Harrison's word would go a long way toward deciding the thing with the old man; and I don't think I managed to hit it off just right with Harrison. They're a queer crowd out there, and I believe the man you want to send to clench things had better be the hail-fellow-well-met kind who can keep his end up whether it's drinking whisky, or fighting, or talking copper claims. Those seem to be the three princ.i.p.al industries of Seneca, and you can imagine the impression I made. Whisky always disagreed with me, and I'm essentially a man of peace. You need a man with red blood in him to get on out there; what they term, I believe, from something I overheard supposed to be somewhat to my discredit, 'a good mixer.' The right man can get that claim; I'm confident of it, but, frankly, I'm not the man. You see, I'm really not what you'd call a sport, Mr.

Gordon."

Gordon laughed long and heartily. "No, Frost," he said, when he could speak, "your worst enemy couldn't say that about you. But you're a mighty good judge of human nature, just the same, which is infinitely more to your credit. I think I catch your idea perfectly. The only thing now is to get the man, and that may be difficult. I wonder, now, how I would do?"

Mr. Frost gazed at him meditatively. Then his face brightened. "I confess that hadn't occurred to me," he said, "but I can see many points in favor of such a decision. In the first place, you can thus keep the thing quiet, and that, of course, is of prime importance. As to your qualifications, you've been an athlete of distinction; I know you can adapt yourself to all sorts of company, and I believe, further, whether it's to your credit or not, you bear the reputation of never having been known to refuse a drink. The mining details I think I could prime you sufficiently on, but, really, after all, it's the other qualities that are going to carry the thing through." He nodded thoughtfully to himself, then said again, "Yes, I can certainly see many points in favor of such a decision."

Gordon rose. "Well," he said, smiling, "I'm glad to know you think so well of me. We'll take a day or two to think things over, and then we'll have another talk. I'm tremendously obliged to you for all your trouble, and I'll send that check along this afternoon. Right out this door here. Takes you directly to the street. Good day, Mr. Frost.

Behave yourself, now. Good day."

CHAPTER IV

GORDON PLAYS TO THE GALLERY

Harrison, somewhat clumsily, held the hotel door open for the stranger, and, as he followed him out into the street, quietly took his measure with a shrewd and appreciative eye.

Indeed, as the two men strolled leisurely along down through the town and out toward the smelting works, there seemed physically little to choose between them. Harrison, big and burly and strong, was the heavier by some twenty or thirty pounds, and yet the easterner, with his broad back, sloping shoulders, powerful, well-rounded chest, and alert, confident step, though evidently lacking the rugged endurance of the miner, looked nevertheless in strength to be fully his equal, and in agility and speed his superior. Both, indeed, were well-nigh perfect examples of their type; the mastiff and the wolfhound might perhaps have been a not inapt comparison.

The stranger was the first to break the silence. "Mighty good of you to take all this trouble, Jack," he said, "I'm getting to feel at home already."

Harrison grinned, with a rough attempt to disclaim any courtesy on his part. "That's all right," he said. "Want to treat a man fair if I can.