“I think you’ve told me about that before, Mr. Madge,” Ben replied as he filled in the dates. “Now, this paper gives me the sole right to work over the ground, bricks, and rubbish of the Smelting Works, until the expiration of the lease. And that will be until--” Ben waited for Mr. Madge to supply the rest of the sentence. “Certainly it does,” the latter said. “You talk like a regular lawyer, Ben.” “Business is business. Now, as I understand it, the lease will expire on the fifteenth of November,--that’s three months off. The Works are mine till then.” “They’re yours until the lease expires,” replied Mr. Madge, with considerable impatience. “I’m ready to sign if you are. Let’s get through with it.” Ben passed the papers toward him and he affixed his signature. Ben followed with his, and then he turned to Hodges. “Will you sign here, Mr. Hodges?” he said. “Yes, I’ll sign the tomfoolery to oblige you,” replied the locksmith. But before he put his name to the paper he relieved his mind by making several sneering remarks. “Talk about di’monds and coal being the same! Why, that won’t be in it, when it comes to findin’ gold in soot and bricks!” he said. “Ben, you’ll be a regular what-do-you-call-it--chemist?” “An alchemist? I hope so,” Ben replied with flushed cheeks. “We ought to have another witness,” he added. A man who was examining some keys in the back part of the shop came forward. “I’ll sign, if you want me to,” he said. “I heard the whole business,--couldn’t help it.” They agreed and he wrote his name, “Andrew Mundon,” in a good bold hand. Ben then paid Mr. Madge the coveted twenties and the party separated. Ben was eager to make his escape. He shrank from the coarse sarcasm which he knew would be his share if he remained in the vicinity of the shop, and he wanted to be alone to think over the matter. “Whew! I’m in for it now!” he exclaimed as he strode along the street, with a hand in each empty pocket. He threw back his head and stepped briskly along. “And I want to tell you one thing right here,” he addressed himself,--“there’s to be no looking backward!” He whistled a lively air and quickened his steps as exciting thoughts crowded fast upon him. Turning a corner suddenly, he collided with a boy of his own age. “Hello, Syd!” The boy addressed, gave a grunt in reply. “How do you like the place?” Ben continued. “O, it’s well enough for a while. I’ve got another one at forty dollars a month, in view.” “Indeed! How soon do expect to make the change?” Ben inquired. “O, I ain’t going to work for this money long,” Syd aggressively replied, as though his employer were doing him an injury. “I’ve had two offers--one’ll pay ten dollars more; but there’s more work and longer hours. I haven’t made up my mind yet which one I’ll take.” Doubt was plainly written in Ben’s face. Syd always had some such rose-colored yarn as this to tell about himself.