“Good morning, sir.”  His head was held rather high, and his voice had a new tone in it.

Mr. Wickersham’s agent looked up, and his face clouded.  He was not used to being addressed in so independent a tone.

“Good morning.  I suppose you have come to tell me how long it will take you to finish the job that I gave you, or that the price I named is not high enough?”

“No,” said Keith, “I have not.  I have come to show you that my people down here do not always put things off till to-morrow.  I have come to tell you that I have done the work.  Here is your survey.”  He unrolled and spread out before Mr. Halbrook’s astonished gaze the plat he had made.  It was well done, the production of a draughtsman who knew the value of neatness and skill.  The agent’s eyes opened wide.

“Impossible!  You could not have done it, or else you—­”

“I have done it,” said Keith, firmly.  “It is correct.”

“You had the plat before?” Mr. Halbrook’s eyes were fastened on him keenly.  He was feeling a little sore at what he considered having been outwitted by this youngster.

“I had run certain of the lines before,” said Keith:  “these, as I started to tell you yesterday.  And now,” he said, with a sudden change of manner, “I will make you the same proposal I made yesterday.  You can pay me what you think the work is worth.  I will not hold you to your bargain of yesterday.”

The other sat back in his chair, and looked at him with a different expression on his face.

“You must have worked all night?’ he said thoughtfully.

“I did,” said Keith, “and so did my assistant, but that is nothing.  I have often done that for less money.  Many people sit up all night in Gumbolt,” he added, with a smile.

“That old stage-driver said you were a worker.”  Mr. Halbrook’s eyes were still on him.  “Where are you from?”

“Born and bred in the South,” said Keith.

“I owe you something of an apology for what I said yesterday.  I shall have some more work for you, perhaps.”

* * * * *

The agent, when he went back to the North, was as good as his word.  He told his people that there was one man in Gumbolt who would do their work promptly.

“And he’s straight,” he said.  “He says he is from the South; but he is a new issue.”

He further reported that old Rawson, the countryman who owned the land in the Gap, either owned or controlled the cream of the coal-beds there.  “He either knows or has been well advised by somebody who knows the value of all the lands about there.  And he has about blocked the game.  I think it’s that young Keith, and I advise you to get hold of Keith.”

“Who is Keith?  What Keith?  What is his name?” asked Mr. Wickersham.

“Gordon Keith.”

Mr. Wickersham’s face brightened.  “Oh, that is all right; we can get him.  We might give him a place?”