"Good afternoon," he muttered. "Looks more like clearing, doesn't it? Stranger in these parts? I've heard of you; haven't had the pleasure of meeting you." Northrup regarded Maclin coolly as one man does another when there is no apparent reason why he should not. "The clouds _do_ seem lifting. No, I'm not what you might call a stranger in King's Forest. Some lake, isn't it, and good woodland?" "One of the family, eh? Happy to meet you." Maclin offered a broad, heavy hand. Northrup took it and smiled cordially without speaking. "Staying on some time?" "I haven't decided exactly." "Come over to the mines and look around. Nothing there as yet but a dump heap, so to speak, but I'm working out a big proposition and while I have to go slow and keep somewhat under cover for a time--I don't mind showing what _can_ be shown." "Thanks," Northrup nodded, "I'll get over if I find time. I'm here on business myself and am rather busy in a slow, lazy fashion, but I'll not forget." Maclin put on his hat and turned away. Northrup got an unpleasant impression of the man's head in the back. It was flat and his neck met it in flabby folds that wrinkled under certain emotions as other men's foreheads did. The expressive neck was wrinkling now. Giving Aunt Polly time to recover her poise, Northrup went inside. He found the small woman hovering about the room, patting the furniture, dusting it here and there with her apron. Her glasses were quite misty. "I hope you kept your ears open," she exclaimed when she turned to Northrup. "I did, Aunt Polly! Come, sit down and let's talk it over." Polly obeyed at once and let restraint drop. "That man has a real terrible effect on me, son. He's like acid sorter creeping in. I don't suppose he could do what he hints--but his hints just naturally make me anxious." "He cannot get a hold on you, Aunt Polly. Surely your brother is more than a match for any one like Maclin."