“Never mind,” said the Commissioner, “I wish to see the map you are making”; and, passing around the old German, seated himself upon the high draughtsman’s stool.  Kampfer continued to break English in trying to explain.

“Herr Gommissioner, I assure you blenty sat I haf not it bremeditated —­sat it wass—­sat it itself make.  Look you! from se field notes wass it blatted—­blease to observe se calls:  South, 10 degrees west 1,050 varas; south, 10 degrees east 300 varas; south, 100; south, 9 west, 200; south, 40 degrees west 400—­and so on.  Herr Gommissioner, nefer would I have—­”

The Commissioner raised one white hand, silently, Kampfer dropped his pipe and fled.

With a hand at each side of his face, and his elbows resting upon the desk, the Commissioner sat staring at the map which was spread and fastened there—­staring at the sweet and living profile of little Georgia drawn thereupon—­at her face, pensive, delicate, and infantile, outlined in a perfect likeness.

When his mind at length came to inquire into the reason of it, he saw that it must have been, as Kampfer had said, unpremeditated.  The old draughtsman had been platting in the Elias Denny survey, and Georgia’s likeness, striking though it was, was formed by nothing more than the meanders of Chiquito River.  Indeed, Kampfer’s blotter, whereon his preliminary work was done, showed the laborious tracings of the calls and the countless pricks of the compasses.  Then, over his faint pencilling, Kampfer had drawn in India ink with a full, firm pen the similitude of Chiquito River, and forth had blossomed mysteriously the dainty, pathetic profile of the child.

The Commissioner sat for half an hour with his face in his hands, gazing downward, and none dared approach him.  Then he arose and walked out.  In the business office he paused long enough to ask that the Denny file be brought to his desk.

He found Hamlin and Avery still reclining in their chairs, apparently oblivious of business.  They were lazily discussing summer opera, it being, their habit—­perhaps their pride also—­to appear supernaturally indifferent whenever they stood with large interests imperilled.  And they stood to win more on this stake than most people knew.  They possessed inside information to the effect that a new railroad would, within a year, split this very Chiquito River valley and send land values ballooning all along its route.  A dollar under thirty thousand profit on this location, if it should hold good, would be a loss to their expectations.  So, while they chatted lightly and waited for the Commissioner to open the subject, there was a quick, sidelong sparkle in their eyes, evincing a desire to read their title clear to those fair acres on the Chiquito.