He went out, banging the door, and Drummond sat down, rather limply, on a dry-goods bale.  After all, it was something of a shock to find himself dismissed, but in a few minutes he gathered confidence.  Stormont had given him fifty dollars and promised him a share in the silver mine, and although he had soon spent the money, he would go to Winnipeg, ask for another payment, and see what progress the fellow was making.  If the vein had not yet been located, Stormont would, no doubt, find him a job.  In fact, the only trouble was that when he had bought his ticket he would not have enough money left to pay his bill at the boarding-house.

Four days later, he left the town, and reaching Winnipeg one afternoon, began to inquire about Stormont in the great, domed, marble-paved waiting-room.  To his surprise, the officials he questioned knew nothing about the man, and when one sent him to the inquiry office, the fashionably dressed lady clerk was ignorant.  She, however, threw a directory on the counter and told him haughtily that he could look for the address.

Drummond found it, and walking along Main Street, turned up Portage Avenue.  There was a block of traffic at the corner where the broad roads cross, and close by a crowd had gathered to read the bulletins on the front of a newspaper office.  Stopping for a few minutes, Drummond studied the row of tall buildings, but saw that the number he wanted was farther on.  There was, however, an imposing block some distance ahead, but this turned out to be a huge department store, and afterwards the buildings got smaller and plainer.  It began to look as if Stormont was not as important a man as he had thought, and he was conscious of some disappointment as he went on until he stopped where private houses, workshops, and shabby stores ran out towards Deer Park.  Then he found the number and entered a narrow, dingy building.

It was obvious that Stormont had studied economy when he chose his office, and Drummond stopped and hesitated on a landing opposite a door that badly needed painting.  He began to think he had been rash in leaving his post in the Ontario town, but nerving himself with the reflection that he had a share in a silver vein, knocked at the door.  Somebody told him to come in, and he walked into a small room.

The dirty walls were hung with plans of building lots and surveys of the forest belt in Eastern Manitoba.  A glass partition ran up the middle and on one side Watson sat in front of a typewriter.  He looked at Drummond with surprise, but did not get up.

“Well,” he said, “why have you come to town?  Have you got a week off, or have you got fired?”

“You ought to know what I’ve come about, but I want to see the boss,” Drummond rejoined.

“That’s easy, anyhow,” said Watson, with a grin Drummond did not like, and indicated a door in the partition.

Drummond opened the door and saw Stormont sitting at a table covered with papers.  He looked up and nodded coolly.