“The purchase doesn’t look as if you were intending to stop throwing the money away,” said Thirlwall. “Oh, that is entirely as it may happen,” Carfax countered cheerfully. “You know the bankrupt always puts up the best front he can when he finds himself coming to the jumping-off place.” “I hope you and Mr. Tregarvon are not trying to run a bluff on anything so unimpressible as Consolidated Coal,” laughed Thaxter. “Much obliged for the hint,” returned the golden youth, accurately matching the bookkeeper’s laugh. “I give you my word, we hadn’t thought of that. Would it astonish you beyond measure if we should?” “Don’t try it,” the engineer advised. “We have excellent records of every acre of coal land in this region, with all the data; thickness of veins, their placement, and so on. You can’t very well run a bluff when the other fellow knows every card in your hand, Mr. Carfax.” “That is so,” Carfax yielded gracefully. “You people have the age on us, in both meanings of the word. Have you heard anything from New York, Mr. Thaxter?” “Nothing positive, as yet; there has scarcely been time. But I believe Mr. Thirlwall has been asked to make a report on the present condition of the equipment.” The engineer confirmed the supposition with a nod, and Carfax said: “Tregarvon will be glad to show you everything he has, I’m sure. Will you make the inspection to-day?” Thirlwall looked at his watch. “I can hardly spare the time this afternoon,” he demurred. “Besides, if I know anything about such things, Mr. Tregarvon wouldn’t care to leave his machinery blocking a public road while he was showing us around.” Carfax had learned all he wished to know, and now he became urgently hospitable. Wouldn’t the visitors stop and rest awhile in the office-building? True, there was little to offer in the way of refreshment, but the old negro cook could make a passable pot of tea. To all of this, Thaxter made excuses for both and said they must be driving back to Whitlow. Carfax let them go, apparently with the greatest reluctance, walking with them to the post where Thaxter’s horse was hitched. But after the natty side-bar buggy had disappeared over the small rise in the northward road, he smiled like an angelic understudy of the villain in a play. “Not much, you didn’t drive down here to tell us that our coke-ovens are out of repair, Mr. Thaxter!” he derided joyously, apostrophizing the vanished bookkeeper. “You came to see if it were really true that we had bought a new engine and were going on with the game! And you are jolly well welcome to all that you found out!” At a little past two o’clock, Carfax, driving the yellow car, tailed in behind the machinery procession on the mountain road. Tregarvon had been having good luck and was correspondingly jubilant; but the sight of Carfax going to keep an appointment with Richardia Birrell gave him another set back.