"Can't you come back this way and hev a little talk about ol' times?" said Gabriel, warming toward Dumphy under the magic of old associations, and ignoring with provoking unconsciousness the sting of his last speech. "There's Olly ez 'ud jest admire to see ye. Ye mind Olly?--the baby, Grace's little sister, growed a fine likely gal now. See yer," continued Gabriel with sudden energy, putting down his pick and shovel, "I'll jess go over thar with ye now." "No! no!" said Dumphy quickly. "Busy! Can't! 'Nother time! Good-day; see you again some time. So long!" and he hurriedly departed, retracing his steps until the claim and its possessor were lost in the intervening foliage. Then he paused, hesitated, and then striking across the summit of the hill, made his way boldly to Gabriel's cottage. Either Mrs. Conroy was expecting him, or had detected him coming through the woods, for she opened the door to him and took him into her little parlour with a graciousness of demeanour and an elaboration of toilet that would have been dangerous to any other man. But, like most men with a deservedly bad reputation among women, Mr. Dumphy always rigidly separated any weakness of gallantly from his business. "Here only for a few moments. Sorry can't stay longer. You're looking well!" said Mr. Dumphy. Mrs. Conroy said she had not expected the pleasure of a personal interview; Mr. Dumphy must be _so_ busy always. "Yes. But I like to bring good news myself. The specimens you sent have been assayed by first-class, reliable men. They'll do. No gold--but eighty per cent silver. Hey! P'r'aps you expected it." But Mr. Dumphy could see plainly from Mrs. Conroy's eager face that she had not expected it. "Silver," she gasped--"eighty per cent!" He was mystified, but relieved. It was evident that she had not consulted anybody else, and that he was first on the ground. So he said curtly-- "What do you propose?" "I don't know," began the lady. "I haven't thought"---- "Exactly!" interrupted Dumphy. "Haven't got any proposition. Excuse me--but" (taking out his watch) "time's nearly up. Look here. Eighty per cent's big thing! But silver mine takes gold mine to run it. All expense first--no profit till you get down. Works, smelting--cost twenty per cent. Here's my proposition. Put whole thing in joint-stock company; 100 shares; five millions capital. You take fifty shares. I'll take twenty-five--dispose of other twenty-five as I can. How's that? Hey? You can't say! Well--think of it!" But all Mrs. Conroy could think of was two and a half millions! It stared at her, stretching its gigantic ciphers across the room. It blazed in golden letters on cheques,--it rose on glittering piles of silver coin to the ceiling of the parlour. Yet she turned to him with a haggard face, and said-- "But this--this money--is only in prospective." "Cash your draft for the sum ten minutes after the stock's issued. That's business." With this certainty Mrs. Conroy recovered herself.