Caruth vanished into the house of the mayor, where he found that his business would take a much longer time than he had expected. The mayor, a stupid and suspicious peasant, spoke no English, and Caruth spoke no Russian, and there was a delay until an interpreter could be found. This interpreter proved to be a slim fellow, whose appearance, despite the fact that his features were hidden by a profusion of beard, nevertheless impressed Caruth with a vague sense of familiarity. For an instant, indeed, the young fellow was sure that he had seen the man before; the next moment, however, he dismissed the idea as preposterous. But he quickly adverted to his former feeling when the interpreter addressed him in very good American. “Mornin’, Cap’n,” he said, with a nod. “This old son of a gun wants to know who you are and what you want here, anyhow.” Caruth gave his name and explained the object of his trip; then added: “Who are you? You talk like an American.” “American! Well, I guess yes! Me for the starry banner every time. I’m from little old Noo York; I am. But wait a minute till I tell his pie-face what you say.” He turned and translated what Caruth had said into halting Russian, and then appeared to render into English something that the Mayor said in return. “He says you are a liar or crazy,” he translated cheerfully. “He puts it kinder easier, but that’s what it means all right. Say, that yarn you told me about hunting things at the bottom of the bay is straight, I suppose.” “Of course it’s straight.” “Well, I’ll try to sneeze it to him again, though I ain’t much on the Russian. It tastes too much like it sounds, and that’s enough. Say! I suppose you belong to the safety vault crowd and have barrels of simoleons at home!” Caruth flushed; then laughed. The man’s impudence was refreshing. “Well,” he admitted, “I’ve got enough to keep me going.” “I guessed so. Wait a minute. I must keep the old geezer satisfied.” He turned and for a moment the language of the Czar held the floor. Finally the man resumed. “It’s that touch of yours about rising sea bottoms that gets him,” he explained. “He says he’s lived here all his life and never saw the sea-bottom rise yet, ’cept when the tide goes out. It’s a tough sort of a gag to spring on one of these two-by-four government officers what rank somewhere between jack high and a bobtail flush and is intelligenced according. Not but what I reckon it’s true enough. But about this here question of wealth. If you’ve got it to burn, I don’t reckon you’d care to pyramid it a million or so, would you?” Caruth was startled, his unquiet conscience making him suspect that everything any one said to him had reference to his true errand. “I don’t know,” he answered cautiously. “What have you got? A gold mine?”