"'Look here,' said I, 'you rent me that upper story for a decent length of time--say a year--and I'll buy out the surplus stock you've got up there at a decent valuation.' They jumped at that; of course they pretended not to, but just the same they jumped. I'll either sell the stuff by auction, even if at a slight loss, or else I'll stick it aboard a ship. Depends a good deal on what is there, of course. It's mostly bale and box goods of some sort or another. I've got an inventory in my pocket. Haven't looked at it yet. Then I'll partition off that wareroom and rent it out for offices and so forth. There are a lot of lawyers and things in this town just honing for something dignified and stable. I only pay three thousand a month for it." Johnny groaned deeply. "Well," persisted Talbot, "I figure on getting at least eight thousand a month out of it. That'll take care of a little loss on the goods, if necessary. I'm not sure a loss is necessary." "And how much, about, are the goods?" I inquired softly. "Oh, I don't know. Somewhere between ten and twenty thousand, I suppose." "Paid for how, and when?" "One third cash, and the rest in notes. The interest out here is rather high," said Talbot regretfully. "Where do you expect to get the money?" I insisted. "Oh, money! money!" cried Talbot, throwing out his arms with a gesture of impatience. "The place is full of money. It's pouring in from the mines, from the world outside. Money's no trouble!" He fell into an intent reverie, biting at his short moustache. I arose softly to my feet. "Johnny," said I, in a strangled little voice, "I've got to give back McGlynn's change. Want to go with me?" We tiptoed around the corner of the building, and fell into each other's arms with shrieks of joy. "Oh!" cried Johnny at last, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Money's no trouble!" After we had to some extent relieved our feelings we changed my gold slug into dust--I purchased a buckskin bag--and went to find McGlynn. Our way to his quarters led past the post-office, where a long queue of men still waited patiently and quietly in line. We stood for a few moments watching the demeanour of those who had received their mail, or who had been told there was nothing for them. Some of the latter were pathetic, and looked fairly dazed with grief and disappointment. The letters were passed through a small window let in the adobe of the wall; and the men filed on to the veranda at one end and off it at the other. The man distributing mail was a small, pompous, fat Englishman. I recognized McGlynn coming slowly down with the line, and paid him half the dust in my bag. As McGlynn reached the window, the glass in it slammed shut, and the clerk thrust a card against it. "_Mails close at 9 P.M._" McGlynn tapped at the glass, received no attention, and commenced to beat a tattoo. The window was snatched open, and the fat clerk, very red, thrust his face in the opening.