J. Willoughby Parkhurst, the reporter, was startled by the change in Stewart's face. It had taken on the ingratiating soul-sweetness of one who enjoys your story with all his faculties--the complete surrender of self, soul, and hopes of heaven. The clerk exuded gratitude from every pore. “Gosh!” exclaimed J. Willoughby Parkhurst in amazement, and turned quickly to see who it was that had made Stewart's greed-stricken face turn itself into a moving-picture film of all the delights. A man was approaching--a man of about the reporter's height, square-shouldered, smooth-shaved, strong-chinned, with an outdoor complexion, and the clear, clean, steady eyes of a man without a liver. There was a metallic glint to the gray-blue of the iris that made the eyes a trifle hard. The lips were not only compressed, but you guessed that the compression was habitual. Even a private detective could have told that this man had made up his mind to do one thing, and therefore he would do it. There was no doubt of it. “Oh, Mr. Jerningham!” The name issued like a stream of saccharin out of the eddying smiles on Stewart's face. “The expectation of twenty millions of gold, at least, on that face!” thought Parkhurst, more impressed by the smile than by the cause thereof. “Here is that nugget I promised you.” And Mr. Jerningham dropped four-and-three-quarter pounds troy of gold into the clerk's coy hand. “It is the largest I ever found in six years' mining on the Klondike.” The reporter later told the city editor--he did not print this--that Stewart, as he got the nugget, showed plainly on his face his disappointment that Jerningham had not come from the South-African diamond-fields. A carbon crystal weighing four pounds and three-quarters--that would have been worth a real smile! But the clerk said, gratefully: “It's very good of you. Thank you ever so much! I'd like to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Park-hurst.” “Glad to make your acquaintance, sir. Parker, did you say?” The Klondiker spoke coldly. It made the reporter say, subtly antagonistic: “Parkhurst!” “Any relation to--” “Haven't a relation in the world.” “Shake again, friend,” said Jerningham, warmly. “I am in the same boat myself!” They shook hands again. “Do you want to be very nice?” asked Jerningham, almost eagerly, of the reporter. “It is my invariable custom to be that,” Parkhurst assured him, gravely. “Dine with me to-night.” Jerningham looked expectant. “I have an engagement with my friend the bishop,” said the reporter, who hated clergymen for obvious reasons. “But--let me see!” Parkhurst closed his eyes the better to see how he could break his engagement. “I'll send regrets to the bishop and dine with you with pleasure.” “Mr. Parkhurst is on the _Planet_” put in Stewart. It was the way he said it! “Ah, yes,” said Jemingham, vaguely. “In fact, Mr. Jemingham,” said Parkhurst, “I was sent to interview you.” “Huh?” ejaculated the Klondiker, blankly. It was plain he was virgin soil.