“I believe it is,” said Steve with surly indifference.  “If you know him, you know an overbearing jabberwock.  He’s head devil of the push that bought the Copperbottom and I don’t like his style even a little bit.  He seems to think I’m the dirt under his feet.  I’ll show him.  I know what he wants, and that’s the other fourth of my mine.”  He thumped the table viciously.  “He’ll pay for all he gets from me, I’ll tell you that.”

Mr. Wyatt was ushered in; irreproachable, flawless, exquisite. ("It’s him!” breathed Loring.) He remained standing, hat in hand, fitted his glass with vacuous care and surveyed the room with deliberately insolent scrutiny.  Thompson kept his seat, fairly prickling with antagonism.  The others rose with exemplary good breeding.

“Aw!” said the newcomer, after an eloquent pause.

“Mistah—­er—­Townsend, cawn I have a few moments of quite pwivate convehsation with you?”

“No, you cawnt!” retorted Thompson truculently.  “Sit down, boys.  Sit down, I say!  These gentlemen are my friends.  Anything you got to say?  If there is, say it.  And my name’s Thompson, if you please.”

“Aw!—­what an extwemely wemahkable ahttitude!” Wyatt fixed his monocle on the offending miner with bland and exasperating condescension.  “Weally, you quite intewest me, y’ know!  I appwoach you, quite civilly, y’ know, with an offah decidedly to youah ahdvahntage, Mistah—­ah—­Tomlinson, and you tweat it——­”

“Thompson!!  By Heavens, you say Tomlinson again and I’ll pound your face into shape!” roared the misnamed one, jumping up.  Mitchell and Loring vainly tried to quiet him.

“Weally, I shall be obwiged to wefeh you to my lawyehs——­” Wyatt began.

“Refer me—­you animated outrage—­you libel!  Turn me loose, you fellows! I don’t want to see you or your durn lawyers!  I know what you want, well enough.  You want to bamboozle me into selling my interest in the Copper-bottom for less than it’s worth.  Here’s my last word to you—­Mr.—­ah—­White!  If you want my fourth at forty thousand, to-day, all right.  It’s worth more—­it’s paid from the grass-roots down.  But that’ll make me the round six figures, and that’s enough. I can make money—­I know my little way about,” he boasted, with insufferable complacency.

“Nobody left me my pile!  Put up or shut up!”

“Mr. Wyatt,” said Mitchell, “pardon me, but may I suggest that you call at a more favorable time?” He made, behind Thompson’s back, the motion significant of an emptied glass.

“Aw!  I see—­I see!  Thawnks awfully for the hint.  Good-evening, gentlemen—­and—­ah—­Mistah Tomkins!”

Thompson broke away, shaking his fist in Wyatt’s face.  “Say that again and I’ll brain you—­pawdon me, I should say, I’ll smash your head in.  Thompson’s my name—­T-h-o-m-p-s-o-n, T h o m p s o n!  And you trade with me, now or never!”