The man laughed shortly. “A gold mine!” he echoed. “A gold mine! Well, I guess you might call it that. What I want to know is, do you care to go in on it? Or if you don’t, will you help out an American marooned on this durned holeski?” Caruth nodded uneasily. “Oh, I suppose so,” he answered slowly. “I’m always willing to help a fellow countryman. But you’ll have to explain.” The man nodded. “I’ll explain all right,” he promised. “But you’ve got to answer all the questions on this sheet of paper first or you’ll have the Czarski in your hairski.” The questions were long and tedious, and when they were finished Caruth rose with a sigh of relief. The interpreter rose also. “I’ve told his joblots that you want me to show you round the mud puddle,” he explained. “That’ll give me a chance to spiel. Come along.” The two walked to the door. As they walked out, Wilkins met them. “Miss Shishkin’s looking at the church,” he explained. “She’s----” He broke off and his face grew red, then white, as his eyes fell on the interpreter. Once or twice he swallowed; then coughed. “D---- that Russian tobacco!” he exclaimed. “It’s been strangling me ever since I sniffed it half an hour ago.” Caruth, who had waited smilingly till the plainsman recovered, glanced toward the church. “Shall we go over and join Miss Shishkin?” he suggested. “I’ve got an interpreter here who can---- Hello! what’s become of the fellow?” The interpreter had vanished. In the few instants that Caruth’s attention was centred on Wilkins, he had slipped away, probably around one of the houses that stood close by. At first Caruth supposed that the disappearance would be but temporary, but as the minutes went by without sign, he was forced to conclude that it was both permanent and intentional. When at last doubt no longer remained, the young fellow laughed angrily. “Let him go, confound him!” he exclaimed. “He was half crazy, anyhow. Come! Let’s go to the church.” CHAPTER FOURTEEN Neither Wilkins nor Florence had waited long for Caruth to return. In fact, that gentleman had scarcely vanished into the mayor’s office when Florence had turned to her companion. “Gee!” she remarked. “Me for the breakaway. These high-brows gets on me nerves. Let’s see the town--even if it ain’t all to the giddy, it’s better than the old boat. Gee! but it’s slow!” Miss Lee, it will be observed, was glad to pretermit, when opportunity offered, the forms of polite speech that she was rapidly acquiring. Wilkins looked at her suspiciously. “You ain’t seemed in no ways bored,” he suggested. “Oh, I got to put up a front, of course,” rejoined the girl indifferently; “but if it wasn’t for you, I guess I’d fade away. This style of life’s all right for those that likes it, I guess, but it’s me for Coney Island every time.”