“He is intending to sell to Asher Ferry, who manufactures reapers, binders, drills, harrows, threshers, eveners, rakes, grain separators, and tractors, and therefore needs a good deal of wood. Mr. Ferry will of course reforest wherever the soil permits, and will probably mine the copper and the iron. Father surmises that he wishes to produce his own iron and carry it in his own steamers. That is why I have bought a coaling station for him, and have tried to buy him some silica so that he can make his own ferrosilicon.” “That’s interesting. Why should your father belittle your business acumen?” “I knew nothing of the plot until I reached Montreal. By the way, sir, I met Mr. Ferry’s lawyer on your steps.” “Yes, Ferry has been at me for months. Offered six hundred thousand pounds, and I presume I should have accepted it next week. Told Nicholas to tell Brinkerhoff that if I had to do business with a pacifist I’d send for him in a day or two.” “It is not too late,” said Marvin, flushing, “to cancel.” “Didn’t mean that. If your father is willing to do business with Ferry, I’m quite satisfied. But you spoke as if your father were not in communication with him.” “That is correct. Mr. Ferry does not suspect who is behind the deal. If you ask me why father is willing to sell to him, I can only guess. I have learned that after we really went in. Ferry made tractors for the government at cost.” “It’s a sufficient reason.” “But it changes your lordship’s point of view.” The baron looked at him smilingly. “You’re a refreshing novelty, Marvin. The contract is signed, and I’d sign it again. By the by, I once intended to colonize that land.” “That would have been a considerable undertaking. An Indian knocked me down before he would let me have ten acres, and the farmers are as independent as lords.” “Young man, your last expression is obsolete. But of course the project is impossible now. Those that I counted on to help me are gone. My wife is dead, my son is dead, and my grandson—my God! Why was it necessary to drown that boy?” The fingers tightened round the stem of the wineglass and snapped it. The hand sprawled over broken glass and flowing wine, and began to shake violently. Marvin rose and grasped the wrist, and put his left arm around the quivering shoulders. “Steady, grandfather. Be a good lord.” The suggestion had its effect. The patient gasped and gasped, but made a supreme effort to control his emotions. Gradually the pulse slowed up, the lips assumed a better tint, and he lay back quietly. When able again to speak, he gave an invitation. “Stay with me a week. May round the stake by that time.” “Thank you, sir. I’ll do it.” Chapter 59. Praseodymium As Ambrose Rich had found his son again in an Indian boy, so the baron seemed to have found again his own grandson. As twin elements of a rare earth are almost inseparable, so are beloved images in a fading mind.