One evening Mr. McLain sat in one of the cozy parlors enjoying a cigar with Mayor Dalrymple, he, himself, being an alderman.  They had much in common to interest them, and were conversing interestedly, when Mr. Case, accompanied by an imposing-looking stranger, approached and asked permission to introduce Major Bancroft, of Quebec.  The major took the liberty of correcting a slight mistake.

“True, from Quebec last,” he said, pleasantly, “but from Devonshire, England, first.  That is my home, and you know an Englishman never denies his country.  I am nephew to the Duke of Devon, and”—­hesitatingly—­“possibly the next heir to the title.  At present I am a major in Her Majesty’s Twenty-first Cavalry.  I am just taking a run through your grand country, while not much needed at home.  Gentlemen, you certainly have the making of a great city here in Montreal.”

“We think so,” said the mayor.

“Yes,” added Mr. McLain, “we think that much of it is already made.  We have already the best schools, the best churches, the best hotels and shipping wharves on the continent, and,” he added, smiling, “the most beautiful women in Canada.”

“I have no inclination to doubt your word in any one of those statements, Mr. McLain, and especially your last proposition, as it accords with my own observation; but my opportunities of looking about as yet have been limited, having arrived only yesterday.”  Then the major continued:  “Is real estate increasing in value very rapidly?”

The mayor replied:  “We have been burned out three times, but each fire has enhanced the value of all real estate.”

“I am glad to hear that,” the major replied, “as I am traveling with an eye open for investments.  It is quite different with us.  Capital invested in real estate in England usually results in regrets and loss.”

This young stranger was a man of sturdy frame, broad shoulders, and medium height, having a military bearing; save his mustache, his face was clean shaven, and he had full lips and large, white teeth.  He looked to be possibly twenty-five years of age, and would have been called good-looking anywhere.  Both the resident citizens invited the major to call at their places of business before he left the city.  This he promised to do.

A few days later, Case, in a joking sort of way, remarked to Mr. McLain:  “I think some of your landowners ought to sell Major Bancroft something in the way of real estate.  He has plenty of money.  I have fifty thousand of his money in my safe, and he seems to be aching to invest it.”

“I am quite willing to sell him some city stock, if he will give me my price,” remarked McLain.

“But I imagine he wants something bigger,” said Case.

“Why,” muttered McLain, “I don’t want anything better or bigger.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Case, “but I think he wants something that will grow while he is fighting the Boers, as he is looking every day to be ordered home.”