"I don't mean anything except the suggestion," remarks the young man. "But here we are in the Fifth Avenue," and the two stride into that great hostelry together, and go to the office, where the clerk says, "Captain Lawrence, a telegram for you." After a glance at its address Harry tears it open, and with a suppressed exclamation passes the despatch to his companion. "Aha, as I thought," remarks Southmead, glancing over the message. "The Zion's Co-operative Mining Institution has brought suit for part of your Mineral Hill property. Unless you compromise, this will delay the English sale." "Yes, this takes me back to Utah at once," says the young man. Then he adds with a laughing sigh: "I need that five hundred thousand dollars, or rather my share of it, as soon as possible." "Ah! But why this hurry?" "Because I'm impatient to make Erma Travenion my wife," says the young man determinedly; "but I must go up-stairs to pack my trunk, so as to get off by the morning train." Then, after a few minutes' hurried conversation on the details of the business, he bids Southmead good-bye, adding: "Telegraph me any further information at the Sherman House, Chicago." "You are going to Utah to compromise this matter?" asks the lawyer, shaking the young man's hand. "Never!" says Lawrence. "But, for all that, I am going to have a try for the girl." With that he steps into the elevator of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, leaving Whitehouse Southmead to saunter to the Unity Club and cards in rather a contemplative, though by no means legal, mood, for he chuckles to himself: "Jove! If that rapid Mr. West should capture rich and lovely Miss East? wouldn't it make Mrs. Livingston wild?" CHAPTER III. HER FATHER'S FRIEND. "Mr. Kruger, how do you do?" says Miss Erma Travenion, some three days after; turning suddenly from the Cerberus who stands at the gate leading to the out-going trains of the Hudson River Railroad, in the Grand Central Depot, New York, waiting to punch her ticket. Then she calls again with the bright, fresh voice of youth: "Mr. Kruger! Mr. Kruger! Don't you recognize me?" and drawing up her dainty white skirts to give her pretty feet room for rapid movement, pursues a gentleman who, in the rush of the great station, apparently does not notice her. The ticket puncher looks astonished for a moment, and then promptly and savagely cries, "Next!" But the "Next!" is Mr. Oliver Ogden Livingston, who has also turned from the entrance, and is gazing after Miss Travenion, an occupation his eyes have become quite used to in the last few months, since her father had finished settling his million upon her. Livingston, after a second's pause of consideration, says hurriedly to the lady who comes immediately behind him, "Mother, you and Louise had better go to our car. Ferdie will escort you. I will wait for Miss Travenion and see her on board before the train starts."