"Oh, sings scales, eh?" said Denver suddenly beginning to take an interest, "must be studying to become a singer." "Dat's it," nodded the old man shaking his finger solemnly, "her mother vas a singer before her. But after they have spent all their money to educate her the teacher says she lacks the temperament. She can never sing, he says, because she is too _dumf_; too--what you call it--un-feeling. She lacks the fire of the vonderful Gadski--she has not the g-great heart of Schumann-Heink. She is an American, you see, and dat is the end of it, so all their money is spent." "Oh, I don't know," defended Denver warmly, "what's the matter with Nordica, and Mary Garden and Farrar? They're Americans, all right, and I've got some of their records that simply can't be beat! You wait till I get out my instrument." He broke open a box in which was packed with many wrappings a polished and expensive phonograph, but as he was clearing a space on a rickety old table the Professor broke into a cackle. "Dere! Dere!" he cried, "don't you hear her now? 'Ah, ah, ah, oo, oo, oo, oo!' Vell, dat's what we get from morning till night--by golly, it makes me sick!" "Aw, that's all right," said Denver after listening critically, "she's just getting ready to sing." "Getting ready!" sneered the Professor, "don't you fool yourself dere--she'll keep dat going for hours. And in the morning she puts on just one thin white dress and dances barefoot in the garden. I come by dere one time and looked over the vall--and, psst, listen, she don't vare no corsets! She ought to be ashamed." "Well, what about you, you danged old stiff?" inquired Denver with ill-concealed scorn. "If Old Bunk had seen you he'd have killed you." "Ah--him?" scoffed the Professor, "no, he von't hurt nobody. Lemme tell you something--now dis is a fact. When he married his vife--and she's an awful fine lady--all she asked vas dat he'd stop his tammed fighting. You see? I know everyt'ing--every little t'ing--I been around dis place too long. She came right out here from the East and offered to marry him, but he had to give up his fighting. He was a bad man--you see? He was quick with a gun, and she was afraid he'd go out and get killed. So I laugh at him now and he goes avay and leaves me--but he von't let me talk with his vife. She's an awful nice woman but----" "Danged right she is!" put in Denver with sudden warmth and after a rapid questioning glance the Professor closed his mouth. "Vell, I guess I'll be going," he said at last and Denver did not urge him to stay. CHAPTER VIII THE SILVER TREASURE