The new term was three days old and Allan and Pete were sitting in front of the stove in Pete’s study. The stove was a recent addition to the furnishings, and installed more in deference to his friends’ demands than from any desire of his own. Pete didn’t mind a little cold; just so long as he could find enough water under the ice in the pitcher to wash with, he was satisfied. But Allan and Hal and Tommy made disparaging remarks about his heating arrangements and ostentatiously kept their hats and coats on while visiting him, and so Pete bought a base-burner and a half ton of coal. “What mine is it?” asked Pete. “The Gold Beetle. Ever hear of it? It’s out in your State.” “Is it at Rico?” asked Pete. “Yes, that’s the place. Didn’t you say you were there last summer?” “Yes, and I know--something about the mine.” Pete looked thoughtfully at the flames dancing behind the mica. “Fact is,” he continued, “the old man is interested in it.” “Really? Then don’t you think it will be all right? He wouldn’t have anything to do with a poor mine, would he?” “Well, the trouble is you can’t always tell whether a mine’s good or bad. The old man’s got stock in all kinds; some of it’s good, some of it isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. I’ve got a lot of that kind myself. I used to think I was something of an investor. Now, this Gold Beetle; what’s probably happened to that is that the pay ore has given out. It very often does. A mine’ll run thousands to the ton for two or three years, sometimes twenty, and then all of a sudden the lode will just naturally peter out. I guess that’s what’s happened to the Beetle. I remember pretty well how it lies. There are paying properties all around it, and maybe if they went on or opened up new drifts they’d come across fresh lodes; or maybe they wouldn’t; it’s just a gamble. I dare say the stockholders aren’t willing to put any money into it. How much stock do your folks hold?” “I don’t know exactly. Pretty nearly half of it, I think.” “Too bad! I’ll ask the old man, when I write, what he thinks about it.” “I wish you would. Maybe if he owns some of it we could--could kind of get together and--and do something,” said Allan, vaguely but hopefully. “Maybe,” answered Pete, thoughtfully. “Meanwhile----” “Meanwhile I’ve got to find some way of making a little money; enough to pay my board, at any rate. And that’s why I ought to leave the table, Pete, and go back to commons, where I can feed for less.” “But we can’t let you do that. Now, look here; you don’t eat very much. What’s the sense in your paying as much as I do, who eat twice as much? That’s plumb foolish! I ought to pay at least eight dollars and you oughtn’t to pay a red cent over four; and that’s the way it’s going to be after this.”