“Give this section a moist climate, and I needn’t tell you that the Great American Desert would literally blossom as the rose. Even as it is, I expect a great deal of it will be redeemed by scientific irrigation. The soil only needs water to become inexhaustibly productive. Our desert, as you know, is not sand, like parts of the Sahara; it has all the ingredients that go to nourish plants, only their present powdery condition makes them unavailable. Now, I can, to-day, buy a hundred square miles of desert for a few dollars. You see the point, don’t you?” “And all you want is expert opinion as to the likelihood of finding water?” “The man who solves that question for me in the affirmative is welcome to half my share of the results that would ensue from it.” “Why don’t you engage some expert to investigate?” “One can’t always trust an expert. I don’t mean as to his expertness only, but as to his good faith. He might prefer to sell the idea to somebody who could pay cash,--which I cannot.” “Why, you seem to have given this thing a good deal of thought, Trednoke.” “Well, yes: it has been my hobby for a year past; and I have made some investigations myself. But this is the first time I have spoken of it to any one.” “I understand. And what of the investigations?” “I can say that I found enough to interest me. I’ll tell you about it some time. I should be glad to leave Miriam something to make her independent.” “I should say that her Creator had already done that!” said Meschines. “By the way, I know a young fellow--if he were only here--who is just the man you want, and can be trusted. He’s a civil engineer,--Harvey Freeman: the Lord only knows in what part of the world he is at this speaking. He has made a special study of these subterranean matters.” “Don’t you remember, papa, Coleridge’s poem of Kubla Khan?-- “Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea!” “Our sacred river, when we find it, shall be named Miriam.” “It ought to be Kamaiakan,” she rejoined; “for, if anybody finds it, it will be he.” “I think I hear the wings of the angel of whom we have been speaking,” said the general. “Yes, here he is; and he has got the letters. Let us see! One for you Meschines. And this, I see, is from our friend Miss Parsloe, postmarked Santa Barbara. Why, she’ll be here to-morrow, at that rate.” “Here’s a queer coincidence!” exclaimed the professor, who had meanwhile opened his envelope and glanced through the contents. “The very man I was speaking of,--Harvey Freeman! Says he is in this neighborhood, has heard I’m here, and is coming down to pay me a visit. Methinks I hear the rolling of the sacred river!” “But you won’t mention it to him, until----”