Having given his promise, Kelley seemed eager to carry the plan through successfully. He was sorry for the youth, but he was sorrier for the mother who was coming with such fond pride in the success of her son--for Morse confessed that he had been writing of his "mine" for a year. He outfitted his new partner with a pair of well-worn miner's boots and some trousers that were stained with clay, and laughed when Fred found them several inches too long. "You've got to wear 'em. No! New ones won't work. How would it do for you to be so durn busy at the mine that I had to come down and bring your people up?" "Good idea!" Then his face became blank. "What would I be busy about?" "That's so!" grinned Kelley. "Well, let's call it your day off and _I'll_ be busy." "No, I want you to come with me to the train. I need you. You must do most of the talking--about the mine, I mean. I'll say you're the practical miner and I'll refer all questions about the business to you. And we must keep out of the main street. I don't want mother to even _pass_ the place I've been operating in." "What if they decide to stay all night?" "They won't. They're going right on. They won't be here more than five or six hours." "All right. We'll find 'em dinner up at Mrs. Finnegan's. If they're like most tourists they'll think the rough-scuff ways of the Boston House great fun. By the way, how old is this little sister?" "Oh, she must be about twenty-two." "Good Lord!" Kelley was dashed. He thought a minute. "Well, you attend to her and I'll keep the old lady interested." "No, you've got to keep close to Flo. I'm more afraid of her than I am of mother. She's sharp as tacks, and the least little 'break' on my part will let her in on my 'stall.' No, you've got to be on guard all the time." "Well, I'll do my best, but I'm no 'Billie dear,' with girls. I've grew up on the trail, and my talk is mostly red-neck. But I mean well, as the fellow says, even if I don't always do well." "Oh, you're all right, Kelley. You look the real thing. You'll be part of the scenery for them." "Spin the marble! It's only for half a day, anyway. They can call me a hole in the ground if they want to. But you must get some tan. I tell you what you do. You go up on the hill and lay down in the sun and burn that saloon bleach off your face and neck and hands. That's _got_ to be done. You've got the complexion of a barber." Morse looked at his white, supple hands and felt of his smooth chin. "You're right. It's a dead give-away. I'll look like a jailbird to them if I don't color up. If I'd only known it a few days sooner I'd have started a beard." "You'll be surprised at what the sun will do in two hours," Kelley said, encouragingly. "You'll peel afterward, but you'll get rid of the bleach." II