“I was always in for a good time, and never saved a cent.  Everybody predicted that I would fail, and I expect most wanted me to fail.  There were two or three, including my uncle, aunt and the friend who lent me money, who wished me well.

“I mustn’t forget to mention the old minister who baptized me when I was an infant.  The good old man has been preaching thirty or forty years on a salary of four hundred dollars, and has had to run a small farm to make both ends meet.  He believed in me and gave me good advice.  Outside of these I don’t remember any one who felt an interest in Jefferson Pettigrew.”

“You will have the satisfaction of letting them see that they did not do you justice.”

“Yes, but I may not tell them—­that is none except my true friends.  If I did, they would hover round me and want to borrow money, or get me to take them out West with me.  So I have hit upon a plan.  I shall want to use money, but I will pretend it is yours.”

Rodney opened his eyes in surprise.

“I will pass you off as a rich friend from New York, who feels an interest in me and is willing to help me.”

Rodney smiled.

“I don’t know if I can look the character,” he said.

“Oh yes you can.  You are nicely dressed, while I am hardly any better dressed than when I left Burton.”

“I have wondered why you didn’t buy some new clothes when you were able to afford it.”

“You see we Western miners don’t care much for style, perhaps not enough.  Still I probably shall buy a suit or two, but not till I have made my visit home.  I want to see how people will receive me, when they think I haven’t got much money.  I shall own up to about five hundred dollars, but that isn’t enough to dazzle people even in a small country village.”

“I am wiling to help you in any way you wish, Mr. Pettigrew.”

“Then I think we shall get some amusement out of it.  I shall represent you as worth about a hundred thousand dollars.”

“I wish I were.”

“Very likely you will be some time if you go out to Montana with me.”

“How large a place is Burton?”

“It has not quite a thousand inhabitants.  It is set among the hills, and has but one rich man, Lemuel Sheldon, who is worth perhaps fifty thousand dollars, but put on the airs of a millionaire.”

“You are as rich as he, then.”

“Yes, and shall soon be richer.  However, I don’t want him to know it.  It is he who holds the mortgage on my uncle’s farm.”

“Do you know how large the mortgage is?”

“It is twelve hundred dollars.  I shall borrow the money of you to pay it.”

“I understand,” said Rodney, smiling.

“I shall enjoy the way the old man will look down upon me very much as a millionaire looks down upon a town pauper.”

“How will he look upon me?”

“He will be very polite to you, for he will think you richer than himself.”