Mrs. Mar, about to hand an envelop to Mr. Blumpitty, wondered to herself, “How much of a fool am I? Well, I haven’t done fool-things all along the line, like most people. If I must commit foolishness before I die, I’ll do it all in a lump and be done with it.” Whereupon she handed Mr. Blumpitty the envelop. He seemed to be giving Harry his address. Mrs. Blumpitty was making an appointment to meet Miss Mar “at ten o’clock to-morrow, at Baumgarten’s.” For the third time Mrs. Mar was reading through a paper she held in her hand. When she came to the ill-written signature, “How do you spell your name?” she demanded of Mr. Blumpitty. “B-l-u-m-p-i-t-t-y,” said the gentleman mournfully. “Humph,” said Mrs. Mar, head on one side and eyes fixed so critically on the name that Mrs. Blumpitty hastened to the defense. “It’s French,” says she. “French!” echoes Mrs. Mar. “How do you make that out?” “Well, that’s what his grandmother always told him. She said it was originally Blank Peed.” Wherewith, having vindicated the family, she shook hands and led the way out. Harry was opening the outside door for them. No one spoke above a whisper, on account of Mr. Dorn. “Good-by, Mr. Blumpitty.” “Good-by, ma’am.” “Look here”—Mrs. Mar detained him for a last aside—“you’ve got twenty-eight people to see after, and a company to manage, and nineteen claims to develop, why can’t you be content with that?” He looked at her. “Would you be?” he asked simply. Her face told tales. “You mean”—she hesitated—“if I’d got on the track of the Mother Lode?” “Jest so,” said Blumpitty, and slowly he followed his wife out of the Great Importer’s house. CHAPTER XVI