The reply that he was going to his daughter's ranch was on his tongue's end, but something checked it--the recollection perhaps of the singular change which had come over Kate's face at the mention of the Toomeys' name; instead, he expressed his appreciation of the proffered hospitality and courteously refused. Glad of the diversion while he was obliged to wait, Prentiss sat down in one of the chairs Toomey drew out and listened with more or less attention while he launched forth upon the subject of the project which would bring manifold returns upon the original investment if it was handled right--the inference being that he was the man to see to that. It was the psychological moment to buy up the outstanding stock. The finances of the town and its citizens were at the lowest ebb--on the verge of collapse, in fact, if something did not turn up. Furthermore--he imparted the information in a voice lowered to a confidential pitch--he had it from a reliable source that the bank itself had been caught in a pinch and had been obliged to transfer its stock to a depositor to save itself. Toomey expatiated upon the merits of the proposition and the subsequent opportunities if it went through, until a feverish spot burned on either cheek-bone. And the burden of his refrain was that never since Noah came out of the ark, "the sole survivor," and all the world his oyster, as it were, had there been such a chance to "glom" everything in sight for a song. If Prentiss's eyes twinkled occasionally, Toomey was too intent upon presenting his case in the strongest possible light to notice it; nor did he desist until Prentiss displayed signs of restlessness. Then, not to crowd his luck, he let the subject drop and sought to entertain him with a running fire of humorous comments upon the passersby. Toomey excelled at this, forgetting, as is frequently the case, that no one of those whom he lampooned was as fitting a subject for ridicule as himself. During a pause he observed: "By the way, there's a woman of your name living about here." "So I've heard." "No connection, of course--different spelling, but not apt to be in any case." There was a covert sneer in his voice. "How's that?" casually. "She--" with a shrug--"well, she isn't up to much." Prentiss stirred slightly. "No?" Toomey detected interest and lowered his voice. "In fact, she's no good." Prentiss sat quite still--the stillness of a man who takes a shock in that way. "They call her the 'Sheep Queen,' but we Old Timers know her as 'Mormon Joe's Kate.' She shipped a while back, and just come home all dolled up. Made a little money, no doubt, but any pinhead could do that, the way prices are. She'll never get 'in,' though." "'In' where?" "In society. For a little burg," with pride, "you'd be surprised to know how exclusive they are here." The speech showed what, among other things, the years in Prouty had done to Toomey.