Drummond colored angrily, but pulled himself together. "I remember I got the money and told Mr. Stormont about the ore." "Now I come to think of it, you did tell me a curious story about a mysterious silver lode," Stormont agreed. "Somewhere in the North, wasn't it? Anyhow, I didn't give the thing much attention. You can hear tales of that kind in any miners' saloon." "That's so," Watson supported him. "Sometimes we hear them in this office when a crank prospector comes along. All the same, they're not business propositions." "You promised me a share in the mine," Drummond declared, and added with dark suspicion: "I guess you found the ore." Stormont laughed ironically. "Cut it out, Mr. Drummond! It's a sure thing I haven't found a silver lode." "If you're going to turn me down, I'll try somebody else." "I can't object. In fact, I dare say Watson will give you the addresses of some people who speculate on mining claims. But you mustn't be disappointed if they fire you out." Drummond's face got red and he clenched his fist, for he had already told his tale to people who heard it with amused incredulity. "You promised you would make me rich and I've thrown up my job! I've got about five dollars and don't know what to do!" "Well," said Stormont coolly, "there's an employment agent a few blocks up the street and as trade's pretty good it's possible he can find you a post. That's about the only thing I can think of and I'm occupied just now--" Drummond stopped him with a savage gesture and walked out of the room. "We have fixed him; I guess he won't bother us again," Stormont remarked. After leaving the office, Drummond wandered moodily along the avenue and presently came to a square, past which rows of pretty wooden houses surrounded by poplars, ran towards the river bank. The snow had gone, the afternoon was warm, and finding a bench in the sun, he sat down to think. His character was complex and his thoughts involved, for he had inherited something from ancestors of different type. A touch of Indian vanity and French expansiveness was balanced by his father's Scottish caution and the Indian's stolid calm. Sometimes he was rash and impulsive, and sometimes strangely patient, but he seldom forgot an injury. It was obvious that he had been cheated and in the meantime could get no satisfaction for the wrong he had been done. What he knew about the silver ore was worth something while he alone had the secret, but now he had told somebody else its value had disappeared. It was, however, a comfort to reflect that he had not been altogether frank with Stormont; he had kept something back that would be a useful guide when one looked for the creek. His recollection of this was hazy, but he would think about it later.