"Do you think," said Baird, rather slowly, "that he thinks he remembers yours?" A week passed before Latimer encountered him again. On this occasion he was alone. Baird had gone South to Delisleville in the interests of the claim. He had unexpectedly heard rumours of some valuable evidence which might be gathered in a special quarter at this particular moment, and had set out upon the journey at a few hours' notice. Stamps had passed two days and nights in torment. He had learned from Mr. Linthicum that his claim had reached one of the critical points all claims must pass. More money was needed to grease the wheels that they might carry it past the crisis safely. Stamps had been starving himself for days and had gone without fire for weeks, but the wheels had refused to budge for the sum he managed to produce. He was weak, and so feverish with anxiety and hunger that his lips were cracked and his tongue dry to rasping. "It's all I kin scrape, Linthicum," he said to that gentleman. "I kin get a few dollars more if Minty kin sell her crop o' corn an' send me the money--but this is every cent I kin give ye now. Won't it do _nothin_'?" "No, it won't," answered the claim agent, with a final sort of shrug. "We're dealing with a business that's got to be handled well or it'll all end in smoke. _I_ can't work on the driblets you've been bringing me--and, what's more, I should be a fool to try." "But ye wouldn't give it up!" cried Stamps, in a panic. "Ye couldn't throw me over, Linthicum!" "There's no throwing over about it," Linthicum said. "I shall have to give the thing up if I can't keep it going. Money's _got_ to be used over a claim like this. I have had to ask men for a thousand dollars at a time--and the thing they were working was easier to be done than this is." "A thousand dollars!" cried Stamps. He grew livid and a lump worked in his throat, as if he was going to cry. "A thousand dollars 'ud buy me and sell me twice over, Mr. Linthicum." "I'm not asking you for a thousand dollars yet," said Linthicum. "I may have to ask you for five hundred before long--but I'm not doing it now." "Five hundred!" gasped Stamps, and he sat down in a heap and dropped his damp forehead on his hands. That night, as Latimer entered the house of an acquaintance with whom he was going to spend the evening, he caught sight of the, by this time, familiar figure on the opposite side of the street.