town hall of Mulford—­” here he bent forward and consulted a paper on his desk—­“No,—­that’s not it,—­Morfordsburg,—­yes, that’s it,—­Morfordsburg,—­looked up the deed, I say, Jack, and from what he says I don’t believe your property is more than a quarter of a mile, as the crow flies, from where they want MacFarlane to begin cutting.  If the lawyer’s right there may be a few dollars in it for you—­not much, but something; and if there is,—­of course, I don’t want to commit myself, and I don’t want to encourage you too much—­but if he’s right I should advise your bringing me what papers you’ve got and have our attorney look them over, and if everything’s O.K. in the title, your property might be turned over to the new company and form part of the deal.  You can understand, of course, that we don’t want any other deposits in that section but our own.”

Breen’s meaning was clear now.  So was the purpose of the letter.

Jack leaned back in his chair, an expression first of triumph and then of disgust crossing his face.  That his uncle should actually want him back in his business in any capacity was as complimentary as it was unexpected.  That the basis of the copartnership—­and it was this that brought the curl to his lip—­was such that neither a quarter of a mile nor two miles would stand in the way of a connecting vein of ore on paper, was to be expected by any one at all familiar with his uncle’s methods.

“Thank you, Uncle Arthur,” he answered simply, “but there’s nothing decided yet about the Morfordsburg work.  I heard a bit of news coming down on the train this morning that may cause Mr. MacFarlane to look upon the proposed work more favorably, but that is for him to say.  As to my own property, when I am there again, if I do go,—­I will look over the ground myself and have Mr. MacFarlane go with me and then I can decide.”

Breen knitted his brows.  It was not the answer he had expected.  In fact, he was very much astonished both at the reply and the way in which it was given.  He began to be sorry he had raised the question at all.  He would gladly have helped Jack in getting a good price for his property, provided it did not interfere with his own plans, but to educate him up to the position of an obstructionist, was quite another matter.

“Well, think it over,” he replied in a tone that was meant to show his entire indifference to the whole affair,—­“and some time when you are in town drop in again.  And now tell me about Ruth, as we must call her, I suppose.  Your aunt just missed her at the Cosgroves’ the other day.”  Then came a short disquisition on Garry and Corinne and their life at Elm Crest, followed by an embarrassing pause, during which the head of the house of Breen lowered the flow line on a black bottle which he took from a closet behind his desk,—­“his digestion being a little out that morning,” he explained.  And so with renewed thanks for the interest he had taken in his behalf, and with his whole mind now concentrated on Peter and the unspeakable happiness in store for him when he poured into the old gentleman’s willing and astonished ears the details of the interview, Mr. John Breen, Henry MacFarlane’s Chief Assistant in Charge of Outside Work, bowed himself out.