Soldiers of Fortune

  Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.

  SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE

  BY

  RICHARD HARDING DAVIS

  TO IRENE AND DANA GIBSON

  SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE

  I

  "It is so good of you to come early," said Mrs. Porter, as AliceLangham entered the drawing-room. "I want to ask a favor of you. I'msure you won't mind. I would ask one of the debutantes, except thatthey're always so cross if one puts them next to men they don't knowand who can't help them, and so I thought I'd just ask you, you're sogood-natured. You don't mind, do you?"

  "I mind being called good-natured," said Miss Langham, smiling. "Mindwhat, Mrs. Porter?" she asked.

  "He is a friend of George's," Mrs. Porter explained, vaguely. "He's acowboy. It seems he was very civil to George when he was out thereshooting in New Mexico, or Old Mexico, I don't remember which. He tookGeorge to his hut and gave him things to shoot, and all that, and nowhe is in New York with a letter of introduction. It's just likeGeorge. He may be a most impossible sort of man, but, as I said to Mr.Porter, the people I've asked can't complain, because I don't knowanything more about him than they do. He called to-day when I was outand left his card and George's letter of introduction, and as a man hadfailed me for to-night, I just thought I would kill two birds with onestone, and ask him to fill his place, and he's here. And, oh, yes,"Mrs. Porter added, "I'm going to put him next to you, do you mind?"

  "Unless he wears leather leggings and long spurs I shall mind verymuch," said Miss Langham.

  "Well, that's very nice of you," purred Mrs. Porter, as she moved away."He may not be so bad, after all; and I'll put Reginald King on yourother side, shall I?" she asked, pausing and glancing back.

  The look on Miss Langham's face, which had been one of amusement,changed consciously, and she smiled with polite acquiescence.

  "As you please, Mrs. Porter," she answered. She raised her eyebrowsslightly. "I am, as the politicians say, 'in the hands of my friends.'"

  "Entirely too much in the hands of my friends," she repeated, as sheturned away. This was the twelfth time during that same winter thatshe and Mr. King had been placed next to one another at dinner, and ithad passed beyond the point when she could say that it did not matterwhat people thought as long as she and he understood. It had nowreached that stage when she was not quite sure that she understoodeither him or herself. They had known each other for a very long time;too long, she sometimes thought, for them ever to grow to know eachother any better. But there was always the chance that he had anotherside, one that had not disclosed itself, and which she could notdiscover in the strict social environment in which they both lived.And she was the surer of this because she had once seen him when he didnot know that she was near, and he had been so different that it hadpuzzled her and made her wonder if she knew the real Reggie King at all.

  It was at a dance at a studio, and some French pantomimists gave alittle play. When it was over, King sat in the corner talking to oneof the Frenchwomen, and while he waited on her he was laughing at herand at her efforts to speak English. He was telling her how to saycertain phrases and not telling her correctly, and she suspected thisand was accusing him of it, and they were rhapsodizing and exclaimingover certain delightful places and dishes of which they both knew inParis with the enthusiasm of two children. Miss Langham saw him offhis guard for the first time and instead of a somewhat bored and cleverman of the world, he appeared as sincere and interested as a boy.

  When he joined her, later, the same evening, he was as entertaining asusual, and as polite and attentive as he had been to the Frenchwoman,but he was not greatly interested, and his laugh was modulated and notspontaneous. She had wondered that night, and frequently since then,if, in the event of his asking her to marry him, which was possible,and of her accepting him, which was also possible, whether she wouldfind him, in the closer knowledge of married life, as keen andlighthearted with her as he had been with the French dancer. If hewould but treat her more like a comrade and equal, and less like aprime minister conferring with his queen! She wanted something moreintimate than the deference that he showed her, and she did not likehis taking it as an accepted fact that she was as worldly-wise ashimself, even though it were true.

  She was a woman and wanted to be loved, in spite of the fact that shehad been loved by many men--at least it was so supposed--and hadrejected them.

  Each had offered her position, or had wanted her because she was fittedto match his own great state, or because he was ambitious, or becauseshe was rich. The man who could love her as she once believed mencould love, and who could give her something else besides approval ofher beauty and her mind, had not disclosed himself. She had begun tothink that he never would, that he did not exist, that he was animagination of the playhouse and the novel. The men whom she knew werecareful to show her that they appreciated how distinguished was herposition, and how inaccessible she was to them. They seemed to thinkthat by so humbling themselves, and by emphasizing her position theypleased her best, when it was what she wanted them to forget. Each ofthem would draw away backward, bowing and protesting that he wasunworthy to raise his eyes to such a prize, but that if she would onlystoop to him, how happy his life would be. Sometimes they meant itsincerely; sometimes they were gentlemanly adventurers of title, fromwhom it was a business proposition, and in either case she turnedrestlessly away and asked herself how long it would be before the manwould come who would pick her up on his saddle and gallop off with her,with his arm around her waist and his horse's hoofs clattering beneaththem, and echoing the tumult in their hearts.

  She had known too many great people in the world to feel impressed withher own position at home in America; but she sometimes compared herselfto the Queen in "In a Balcony," and repeated to herself, with mockseriousness:--

  "And you the marble statue all the time They praise and point at as preferred to life, Yet leave for the first breathing woman's cheek, First dancer's, gypsy's or street balladine's!"

  And if it were true, she asked herself, that the man she had imaginedwas only an ideal and an illusion, was not King the best of the others,the unideal and ever-present others? Every one else seemed to thinkso. The society they knew put them constantly together and approved.Her people approved. Her own mind approved, and as her heart was notapparently ever to be considered, who could say that it did not approveas well? He was certainly a very charming fellow, a manly, clevercompanion, and one who bore about him the evidences of distinction andthorough breeding. As far as family went, the Kings were as old as ayoung country could expect, and Reggie King was, moreover, in spite ofhis wealth, a man of action and ability. His yacht journeyed fromcontinent to continent, and not merely up the Sound to Newport, and hewas as well known and welcome to the consuls along the coasts of Africaand South America as he was at Cowes or Nice. His books of voyageswere recognized by geographical societies and other serious bodies, whohad given him permission to put long disarrangements of the alphabetafter his name. She liked him because she had grown to be at home withhim, because it was good to know that there was some one who would notmisunderstand her, and who, should she so indulge herself, would nottake advantage of any appeal she might make to his sympathy, who wouldalways be sure to do the tactful thing and the courteous thing, andwho, while he might never do a great thing, could not do an unkind one.

  Miss Langham had entered the Porters' drawing-room after the greaternumber of the guests had arrived, and she turned from her hostess tolisten to an old gentleman with a passion for golf, a passion in whichhe had for a long time been endeavoring to interest her. She answeredhim and his enthusiasm in kind, and with as much apparent interest asshe w
ould have shown in a matter of state. It was her principle to beall things to all men, whether they were great artists, greatdiplomats, or great bores. If a man had been pleading with her toleave the conservatory and run away with him, and another had come upinnocently and announced that it was his dance, she would have said:"Oh, is it?" with as much apparent delight as though his coming hadbeen the one bright hope in her life.

  She was growing enthusiastic over the delights of golf andunconsciously making a very beautiful picture of herself in herinterest and forced vivacity, when she became conscious for the firsttime of a strange young man who was standing alone before the fireplacelooking at her, and frankly listening to all the nonsense she wastalking. She guessed that he had been listening for some time, and shealso saw, before he turned his eyes quickly away, that he wasdistinctly amused. Miss Langham stopped gesticulating and lowered hervoice, but continued to keep her eyes on the face of the stranger,whose own eyes were wandering around the room, to give her, so sheguessed, the idea that he had not been listening, but that she hadcaught him at it in the moment he had first looked at her. He was atall, broad-shouldered youth, with a handsome face, tanned and dyed,either by the sun or by exposure to the wind, to a deep ruddy brown,which contrasted strangely with his yellow hair and mustache, and withthe pallor of the other faces about him. He was a stranger apparentlyto every one present, and his bearing suggested, in consequence, thatease of manner which comes to a person who is not only sure of himself,but who has no knowledge of the claims and pretensions to socialdistinction of those about him. His most attractive feature was hiseyes, which seemed to observe all that was going on, not only what wason the surface, but beneath the surface, and that not rudely orcovertly but with the frank, quick look of the trained observer. MissLangham found it an interesting face to watch, and she did not lookaway from it. She was acquainted with every one else in the room, andhence she knew this must be the cowboy of whom Mrs. Porter had spoken,and she wondered how any one who had lived the rough life of the Westcould still retain the look when in formal clothes of one who was inthe habit of doing informal things in them.

  Mrs. Porter presented her cowboy simply as "Mr. Clay, of whom I spoketo you," with a significant raising of the eyebrows, and the cowboymade way for King, who took Miss Langham in. He looked franklypleased, however, when he found himself next to her again, but did nottake advantage of it throughout the first part of the dinner, duringwhich time he talked to the young married woman on his right, and MissLangham and King continued where they had left off at their lastmeeting. They knew each other well enough to joke of the way in whichthey were thrown into each other's society, and, as she said, theytried to make the best of it. But while she spoke, Miss Langham wascontinually conscious of the presence of her neighbor, who piqued herinterest and her curiosity in different ways. He seemed to be at hisease, and yet from the manner in which he glanced up and down the tableand listened to snatches of talk on either side of him he had theappearance of one to whom it was all new, and who was seeing it for thefirst time.

  There was a jolly group at one end of the long table, and they wishedto emphasize the fact by laughing a little more hysterically at theirremarks than the humor of those witticisms seemed to justify. Adaughter-in-law of Mrs. Porter was their leader in this, and at onepoint she stopped in the middle of a story and waving her hand at thedouble row of faces turned in her direction, which had been attractedby the loudness of her voice, cried, gayly, "Don't listen. This is forprivate circulation. It is not a jeune-fille story." The debutantesat the table continued talking again in steady, even tones, as thoughthey had not heard the remark or the first of the story, and the mennext to them appeared equally unconscious. But the cowboy, MissLangham noted out of the corner of her eye, after a look of politesurprise, beamed with amusement and continued to stare up and down thetable as though he had discovered a new trait in a peculiar andinteresting animal. For some reason, she could not tell why, she feltannoyed with herself and with her friends, and resented the attitudewhich the new-comer assumed toward them.

  "Mrs. Porter tells me that you know her son George?" she said. He didnot answer her at once, but bowed his head in assent, with a look ofinterrogation, as though, so it seemed to her, he had expected her,when she did speak, to say something less conventional.

  "Yes," he replied, after a pause, "he joined us at Ayutla. It was theterminus of the Jalisco and Mexican Railroad then. He came out overthe road and went in from there with an outfit after mountain lions. Ibelieve he had very good sport."

  "That is a very wonderful road, I am told," said King, bending forwardand introducing himself into the conversation with a nod of the headtoward Clay; "quite a remarkable feat of engineering."

  "It will open up the country, I believe," assented the other,indifferently.

  "I know something of it," continued King, "because I met the men whowere putting it through at Pariqua, when we touched there in the yacht.They shipped most of their plant to that port, and we saw a good dealof them. They were a very jolly lot, and they gave me a mostinteresting account of their work and its difficulties."

  Clay was looking at the other closely, as though he was trying to findsomething back of what he was saying, but as his glance seemed only toembarrass King he smiled freely again in assent, and gave him his fullattention.

  "There are no men to-day, Miss Langham," King exclaimed, suddenly,turning toward her, "to my mind, who lead as picturesque lives as docivil engineers. And there are no men whose work is as littleappreciated."

  "Really?" said Miss Langham, encouragingly.

  "Now those men I met," continued King, settling himself with his sideto the table, "were all young fellows of thirty or thereabouts, butthey were leading the lives of pioneers and martyrs--at least that'swhat I'd call it. They were marching through an almost unknown part ofMexico, fighting Nature at every step and carrying civilization withthem. They were doing better work than soldiers, because soldiersdestroy things, and these chaps were creating, and making the waystraight. They had no banners either, nor brass bands. They foughtmountains and rivers, and they were attacked on every side by fever andthe lack of food and severe exposure. They had to sit down around acamp-fire at night and calculate whether they were to tunnel amountain, or turn the bed of a river or bridge it. And they knew allthe time that whatever they decided to do out there in the wildernessmeant thousands of dollars to the stockholders somewhere up in God'scountry, who would some day hold them to account for them. Theydragged their chains through miles and miles of jungle, and over flatalkali beds and cactus, and they reared bridges across roaring canons.We know nothing about them and we care less. When their work is donewe ride over the road in an observation-car and look down thousands andthousands of feet into the depths they have bridged, and we never givethem a thought. They are the bravest soldiers of the present day, andthey are the least recognized. I have forgotten their names, and younever heard them. But it seems to me the civil engineer, for all that,is the chief civilizer of our century."

  Miss Langham was looking ahead of her with her eyes half-closed, asthough she were going over in her mind the situation King had described.

  "I never thought of that," she said. "It sounds very fine. As you say,the reward is so inglorious. But that is what makes it fine."

  The cowboy was looking down at the table and pulling at a flower in thecentre-piece. He had ceased to smile. Miss Langham turned on himsomewhat sharply, resenting his silence, and said, with a slightchallenge in her voice:--

  "Do you agree, Mr. Clay," she asked, "or do you prefer thechocolate-cream soldiers, in red coats and gold lace?"

  "Oh, I don't know," the young man answered, with some slighthesitation. "It's a trade for each of them. The engineer's work isall the more absorbing, I imagine, when the difficulties are greatest.He has the fun of overcoming them."

  "You see nothing in it then," she asked, "but a source of amusement?"

  "Oh, yes, a g
ood deal more," he replied. "A livelihood, for one thing.I--I have been an engineer all my life. I built that road Mr. King istalking about."

  An hour later, when Mrs. Porter made the move to go, Miss Langham rosewith a protesting sigh. "I am so sorry," she said, "it has been mostinteresting. I never met two men who had visited so many inaccessibleplaces and come out whole. You have quite inspired Mr. King, he wasnever so amusing. But I should like to hear the end of that adventure;won't you tell it to me in the other room?"

  Clay bowed. "If I haven't thought of something more interesting in themeantime," he said.

  "What I can't understand," said King, as he moved up into MissLangham's place, "is how you had time to learn so much of the rest ofthe world. You don't act like a man who had spent his life in thebrush."

  "How do you mean?" asked Clay, smiling--"that I don't use the wrongforks?"

  "No," laughed King, "but you told us that this was your first visitEast, and yet you're talking about England and Vienna and Voisin's.How is it you've been there, while you have never been in New York?"

  "Well, that's partly due to accident and partly to design," Clayanswered. "You see I've worked for English and German and Frenchcompanies, as well as for those in the States, and I go abroad to makereports and to receive instructions. And then I'm what you call aself-made man; that is, I've never been to college. I've always had toeducate myself, and whenever I did get a holiday it seemed to me that Iought to put it to the best advantage, and to spend it wherecivilization was the furthest advanced--advanced, at least, in years.When I settle down and become an expert, and demand large sums for justlooking at the work other fellows have done, then I hope to live in NewYork, but until then I go where the art galleries are biggest and wherethey have got the science of enjoying themselves down to the veryfinest point. I have enough rough work eight months of the year tomake me appreciate that. So whenever I get a few months to myself Itake the Royal Mail to London, and from there to Paris or Vienna. Ithink I like Vienna the best. The directors are generally importantpeople in their own cities, and they ask one about, and so, though Ihope I am a good American, it happens that I've more friends on theContinent than in the United States."

  "And how does this strike you?" asked King, with a movement of hisshoulder toward the men about the dismantled table.

  "Oh, I don't know," laughed Clay. "You've lived abroad yourself; howdoes it strike you?"

  Clay was the first man to enter the drawing-room. He walked directlyaway from the others and over to Miss Langham, and, taking her fan outof her hands as though to assure himself of some hold upon her, seatedhimself with his back to every one else.

  "You have come to finish that story?" she said, smiling.

  Miss Langham was a careful young person, and would not have encourageda man she knew even as well as she knew King, to talk to her throughdinner, and after it as well. She fully recognized that because shewas conspicuous certain innocent pleasures were denied her which othergirls could enjoy without attracting attention or comment. But Clayinterested her beyond her usual self, and the look in his eyes was atribute which she had no wish to put away from her.

  "I've thought of something more interesting to talk about," said Clay."I'm going to talk about you. You see I've known you a long time."

  "Since eight o'clock?" asked Miss Langham.

  "Oh, no, since your coming out, four years ago."

  "It's not polite to remember so far back," she said. "Were you one ofthose who assisted at that important function? There were so manythere I don't remember."

  "No, I only read about it. I remember it very well; I had ridden overtwelve miles for the mail that day, and I stopped half-way back to theranch and camped out in the shade of a rock and read all the papers andmagazines through at one sitting, until the sun went down and Icouldn't see the print. One of the papers had an account of yourcoming out in it, and a picture of you, and I wrote East to thephotographer for the original. It knocked about the West for threemonths and then reached me at Laredo, on the border between Texas andMexico, and I have had it with me ever since."

  Miss Langham looked at Clay for a moment in silent dismay and with aperplexed smile.

  "Where is it now?" she asked at last.

  "In my trunk at the hotel."

  "Oh," she said, slowly. She was still in doubt as to how to treat thisact of unconventionality. "Not in your watch?" she said, to cover upthe pause. "That would have been more in keeping with the rest of thestory."

  The young man smiled grimly, and pulling out his watch pried back thelid and turned it to her so that she could see a photograph inside.The face in the watch was that of a young girl in the dress of afashion of several years ago. It was a lovely, frank face, looking outof the picture into the world kindly and questioningly, and withoutfear.

  "Was I once like that?" she said, lightly. "Well, go on."

  "Well," he said, with a little sigh of relief, "I became greatlyinterested in Miss Alice Langham, and in her comings out and goings in,and in her gowns. Thanks to our having a press in the States thatmakes a specialty of personalities, I was able to follow you prettyclosely, for, wherever I go, I have my papers sent after me. I can getalong without a compass or a medicine-chest, but I can't do without thenewspapers and the magazines. There was a time when I thought you weregoing to marry that Austrian chap, and I didn't approve of that. Iknew things about him in Vienna. And then I read of your engagement toothers--well--several others; some of them I thought worthy, and othersnot. Once I even thought of writing you about it, and once I saw youin Paris. You were passing on a coach. The man with me told me it wasyou, and I wanted to follow the coach in a fiacre, but he said he knewat what hotel you were stopping, and so I let you go, but you were notat that hotel, or at any other--at least, I couldn't find you."

  "What would you have done--?" asked Miss Langham. "Never mind," sheinterrupted, "go on."

  "Well, that's all," said Clay, smiling. "That's all, at least, thatconcerns you. That is the romance of this poor young man."

  "But not the only one," she said, for the sake of saying something.

  "Perhaps not," answered Clay, "but the only one that counts. I alwaysknew I was going to meet you some day. And now I have met you."

  "Well, and now that you have met me," said Miss Langham, looking at himin some amusement, "are you sorry?"

  "No--" said Clay, but so slowly and with such consideration that MissLangham laughed and held her head a little higher. "Not sorry to meetyou, but to meet you in such surroundings."

  "What fault do you find with my surroundings?"

  "Well, these people," answered Clay, "they are so foolish, so futile.You shouldn't be here. There must be something else better than this.You can't make me believe that you choose it. In Europe you could havea salon, or you could influence statesmen. There surely must besomething here for you to turn to as well. Something better thangolf-sticks and salted almonds."

  "What do you know of me?" said Miss Langham, steadily. "Only what youhave read of me in impertinent paragraphs. How do you know I am fittedfor anything else but just this? You never spoke with me beforeto-night."

  "That has nothing to do with it," said Clay, quickly. "Time is madefor ordinary people. When people who amount to anything meet theydon't have to waste months in finding each other out. It is only thedoubtful ones who have to be tested again and again. When I was a kidin the diamond mines in Kimberley, I have seen the experts pick out aperfect diamond from the heap at the first glance, and without amoment's hesitation. It was the cheap stones they spent most of theafternoon over. Suppose I HAVE only seen you to-night for the firsttime; suppose I shall not see you again, which is quite likely, for Isail tomorrow for South America--what of that? I am just as sure ofwhat you are as though I had known you for years."

  Miss Langham looked at him for a moment in silence. Her beauty was sogreat that she could take her time to speak. She was not afraid oflosing any one's
attention.

  "And have you come out of the West, knowing me so well, just to tell methat I am wasting myself?" she said. "Is that all?"

  "That is all," answered Clay. "You know the things I would like totell you," he added, looking at her closely.

  "I think I like to be told the other things best," she said, "they arethe easier to believe."

  "You have to believe whatever I tell you," said Clay, smiling. The girlpressed her hands together in her lap, and looked at him curiously.The people about them were moving and making their farewells, and theybrought her back to the present with a start.

  "I'm sorry you're going away," she said. "It has been so odd. You comesuddenly up out of the wilderness, and set me to thinking and try totrouble me with questions about myself, and then steal away againwithout stopping to help me to settle them. Is it fair?" She rose andput out her hand, and he took it and held it for a moment, while theystood looking at one another.

  "I am coming back," he said, "and I will find that you have settledthem for yourself."

  "Good-by," she said, in so low a tone that the people standing nearthem could not hear. "You haven't asked me for it, you know, but--Ithink I shall let you keep that picture."

  "Thank you," said Clay, smiling, "I meant to."

  "You can keep it," she continued, turning back, "because it is not mypicture. It is a picture of a girl who ceased to exist four years ago,and whom you have never met. Good-night."

  Mr. Langham and Hope, his younger daughter, had been to the theatre.The performance had been one which delighted Miss Hope, and whichsatisfied her father because he loved to hear her laugh. Mr. Langhamwas the slave of his own good fortune. By instinct and education hewas a man of leisure and culture, but the wealth he had inherited waslike an unruly child that needed his constant watching, and in keepingit well in hand he had become a man of business, with time for nothingelse.

  Alice Langham, on her return from Mrs. Porter's dinner, found him inhis study engaged with a game of solitaire, while Hope was kneeling ona chair beside him with her elbows on the table. Mr. Langham had beentroubled with insomnia of late, and so it often happened that whenAlice returned from a ball she would find him sitting with a novel, orhis game of solitaire, and Hope, who had crept downstairs from her bed,dozing in front of the open fire and keeping him silent company. Thefather and the younger daughter were very close to one another, and hadgrown especially so since his wife had died and his son and heir hadgone to college. This fourth member of the family was a great bond ofsympathy and interest between them, and his triumphs and escapades atYale were the chief subjects of their conversation. It was told by thedirectors of a great Western railroad, who had come to New York todiscuss an important question with Mr. Langham, that they had beenushered downstairs one night into his basement, where they had foundthe President of the Board and his daughter Hope working out a game offootball on the billiard table. They had chalked it off into whatcorresponded to five-yard lines, and they were hurling twenty-twochess-men across it in "flying wedges" and practising the severaltricks which young Langham had intrusted to his sister under an oath ofsecrecy. The sight filled the directors with the horrible fear thatbusiness troubles had turned the President's mind, but after they hadsat for half an hour perched on the high chairs around the table, whileHope excitedly explained the game to them, they decided that he waswiser than they knew, and each left the house regretting he had no sonworthy enough to bring "that young girl" into the Far West.

  "You are home early," said Mr. Langham, as Alice stood above himpulling at her gloves. "I thought you said you were going on to somedance."

  "I was tired," his daughter answered.

  "Well, when I'm out," commented Hope, "I won't come home at eleveno'clock. Alice always was a quitter."

  "A what?" asked the older sister.

  "Tell us what you had for dinner," said Hope. "I know it isn't nice toask," she added, hastily, "but I always like to know."

  "I don't remember," Miss Langham answered, smiling at her father,"except that he was very much sunburned and had most perplexing eyes."

  "Oh, of course," assented Hope, "I suppose you mean by that that youtalked with some man all through dinner. Well, I think there is a timefor everything."

  "Father," interrupted Miss Langham, "do you know many engineers--I meando you come in contact with them through the railroads and mines youhave an interest in? I am rather curious about them," she said,lightly. "They seem to be a most picturesque lot of young men."

  "Engineers? Of course," said Mr. Langham, vaguely, with the ten ofspades held doubtfully in air. "Sometimes we have to depend upon themaltogether. We decide from what the engineering experts tell uswhether we will invest in a thing or not."

  "I don't think I mean the big men of the profession," said hisdaughter, doubtfully. "I mean those who do the rough work. The menwho dig the mines and lay out the railroads. Do you know any of them?"

  "Some of them," said Mr. Langham, leaning back and shuffling the cardsfor a new game. "Why?"

  "Did you ever hear of a Mr. Robert Clay?"

  Mr. Langham smiled as he placed the cards one above the other in evenrows. "Very often," he said. "He sails to-morrow to open up thelargest iron deposits in South America. He goes for the ValenciaMining Company. Valencia is the capital of Olancho, one of thoselittle republics down there."

  "Do you--are you interested in that company?" asked Miss Langham,seating herself before the fire and holding out her hands toward it."Does Mr. Clay know that you are?"

  "Yes--I am interested in it," Mr. Langham replied, studying the cardsbefore him, "but I don't think Clay knows it--nobody knows it yet,except the president and the other officers." He lifted a card and putit down again in some indecision. "It's generally supposed to beoperated by a company, but all the stock is owned by one man. As amatter of fact, my dear children," exclaimed Mr. Langham, as he placeda deuce of clubs upon a deuce of spades with a smile of content, "theValencia Mining Company is your beloved father."

  "Oh," said Miss Langham, as she looked steadily into the fire.

  Hope tapped her lips gently with the back of her hand to hide the factthat she was sleepy, and nudged her father's elbow. "You shouldn'thave put the deuce there," she said, "you should have used it to buildwith on the ace."