“Rich!” laughed Merle. “Who ever told you such a foolish thing? While of course I have never felt poverty, don’t you know that I am absolutely dependent upon Mrs. Darlington’s kindness and generosity to me, her adopted daughter?” A smile of understanding broke over Dick’s face. “You tell me that? I am so delighted,” he exclaimed. “You surely know my story well enough,” continued Merle, “not to have mistaken me for an heiress. I lost both father and mother when I was a baby. Mrs. Darlington took me to her heart, and no mother could have been dearer and sweeter than she, no sister kinder and more loving than Grace. But I am proud to think they have loved me for my own sake, not for any wealth I might have owned.” “Then there is no barrier,” cried Dick, as once again he drew her to him. “Unless my poverty is a barrier,” he added. “But won’t I work hard all my life to give you every comfort you can desire!” “Well, we’ll have a good start at all events,” said Merle, with a merry little upglance. “How’s that?” “The ten-thousand-dollar prize for the best plans. Have you forgotten about that already?” “But it is not won yet.” “Oh, I have the firm presentiment that you are going to win, Dick, dear. I am sure of it—sure!” she repeated in a tone of conviction. Her face was aglow and Dick caught the spirit of her enthusiasm. “Then I’m sure, too. And, by jove, won’t we have one grand honeymoon trip, dearest?” CHAPTER XXVIII—The Prize Winner DICK WILLOUGHBY’S sensational escape from La Siesta had added another thrill to the mystery surrounding the murder of Marshall Thurston. But as week succeeded week without further incident, the affair gradually faded away as a topic of conversation. All the talk now was about the coming of the new town. The fever of speculation was in the air. “Say, boys,” remarked Jack Rover one evening to his two cronies at the store, “I’m sure getting crazy about the new town. I’ve got a thousand bones of my own savings besides the money from old Pierre Luzon, and I’m going to invest every dangnation cent of it in town lots on opening day. You bet I’ll be there mighty early in the morning when the sale starts.” “I’m sorta locoed myself,” said Baker, “about them lots in the new town. Guess I’ll grab off a few good corners. I look for an early rise—prices’ll go up like blazes,’ I’m ‘lowin’.” Buck Ashley snorted contemptuously. “Say, you fellers are two dippy ones. That new town talk is a lot o’ hot air, d’you hear? Jest the agitatin’ work of them pesky town boomers. Won’t ‘mount to nothin’.” Jack Rover started a defence, but was quickly motioned to silence by old Tom Baker, who, after clearing his throat, pushed his hat back and glared at Buck Ashley.