animal constantly chasing it until a white man comes along, when they
call a truce and both chase him. And the vegetation is so thick and
grows so quickly that you have to cut down the jungle about the
workings every few days or so to avoid being swamped by it. Otherwise,'
finished Hank, refilling his pipe and lighting it, 'the place is a
pretty good kind of summer resort.'
'And you're going back to it? Back to the quinine and the beasts and
the butterflies?'
'Sure. The gold runs up to twenty dollars the cubic yard and is worth
eighteen dollars an ounce.'
'When are you going?'
'I'm in no hurry. This year, next year, some time, never. No, not
never. Call it some time.'
'And you want me to come, too?'
'I would give half of whatever there is in the mine to have you come.
But things being as they are, well, I guess we can call it off. Is
there any chance in the world, Kirk, of your ever ceasing to be a
bloated capitalist? Could any of your stocks go back on you?'
'I doubt it. They're pretty gilt-edged, I fancy, though I've never
studied the question of stocks. My little gold-mine isn't in the same
class with yours, but it's as solid as a rock, and no fevers and
insects attached to it, either.'
* * * * *
And now the gold-mine had proved of less than rock-like solidity. The
most gilt-edged of all the stocks had failed. The capitalist had become
in one brief day the struggling artist.
Hank's proposal seemed a good deal less fantastic now to Kirk as he
prepared for his second onslaught, the grand attack, on the stronghold
of those who bought art with gold.
One afternoon, about two weeks later, Kirk, returning to the studio
from an unprofitable raid into the region of the dealers, found on the
table a card bearing the name of Mrs. Robert Wilbur. This had been
crossed out, and beneath it, in a straggly hand, the name Miss Wilbur
had been written.
The phenomenon of a caller at the cell of the two hermits was so
strange that he awaited Ruth's arrival with more than his customary
impatience. She would be able to identify the visitor. George Pennicut,
questioned on the point, had no information of any value to impart. A
very pretty young lady she was, said George, with what you might call a
lively manner. She had seemed disappointed at finding nobody at home.
No, she had left no message.
Ruth, arriving a few moments later, was met by Kirk with the card in
his hand.
'Can you throw any light on this?' he said. 'Who is Miss Wilbur, who
has what you might call a lively manner and appears disappointed when
she does not find us at home?'
Ruth looked at the card.
'Sybil Wilbur? I wonder what she wants.'
'Who is she? Let's get that settled first.'
