"I told you that I had my reasons for it," said Dean, resolutely, though his look was troubled. "The boy suspects me," thought Kirby. "It is time I got rid of him." "We will discuss this matter hereafter," he said quietly. "We shall have to come to an understanding. Stay here till I come out." He went into the pawnbroker's, and in less than five minutes returned with a roll of bills. "It appears that I have to do my own work, though you are in my employ," he said with a sneer. Dean didn't reply. He began to suspect that he would not long retain the place which he at present filled. He resolved to look about him, and if he saw anywhere a chance to get into the employ of some one else to take advantage of it. In a money way he might not do so well, but he did not wish to remain connected any longer than he could help with a man of Mr. Kirby's character. At the Commercial Hotel, Dean and his employer occupied the same room. They remained in the Lake City for a week. Dean's labors were very light, being confined to the writing of four letters, one of which is subjoined as a specimen. It was addressed to a certain John Carver, of San Francisco. It ran thus: DEAR SIR: You may sell out the two hundred shares of mining stock which you hold of mine as soon as a satisfactory price can be obtained. I think I ought to get twenty dollars per share, but will accept eighteen if you think it best. The amount you can deposit to my credit in the Bank of Nevada. Yours truly, PETER KIRBY. Kirby watched Dean's face when he was writing this letter. It was intended for effect simply, and to dispel the suspicions of his young secretary. But Dean had been gaining rapidly in knowledge of the world, and especially in the knowledge of his employer, and he had little belief in his mining property. "How much do you think that mining stock cost me, Dean?" said Kirby, in a confidential tone. "I couldn't guess, sir." "Four dollars and a quarter per share. How much would that be on two hundred shares?" "Eight hundred and fifty dollars." "Correct! I see you are quick at figures. Now, even if I sell at eighteen, and I am certain to get that, I shall make a very tidy profit. Let me see, it would foot up thirty-six hundred dollars—a profit of twenty seven hundred, allowing the extra fifty for broker's commission." "Are you going to San Francisco, Mr. Kirby?" asked Dean. "I may; I am not quite sure. It is a lucky city for me. Whenever I go there I make money." Dean could not help wondering whether he made it in the same way as on the Fall River boat. "I have been rather short of money lately," continued Mr. Kirby, "because I was not willing to sell out my shares except at the top of the market. However I think I may venture to sell now." Dean made no comment He did not believe that Kirby owned any mining shares at all. "Shall I mail the letter for you, Mr. Kirby?" asked the young secretary.