“Passed all my exams,” Tavernake agreed tersely.

“You are the man for out yonder,” Pritchard insisted.  “I’ve two years’ vacation—­dead sick of this city life I am—­and I am going to put you on the track of it.  You don’t know much about prospecting yet, I reckon?”

“Nothing at all!”

“You soon shall,” Pritchard went on.  “We’ll start from Winnipeg.  A few horses, some guides, and a couple of tents.  We’ll spend twenty weeks, my friend, without seeing a town.  What do you think of that?”

“Gorgeous!” Tavernake muttered.

“Twenty weeks we’ll strike westward.  I know the way to set about the whole job.  I know one or two of the capitalists, too, and if we don’t map out some of the grandest estates in British Columbia, why, my name ain’t Pritchard.”

“But I haven’t a penny in the world,” Tavernake objected.

“That’s where you’re lying,” Pritchard remarked, pulling a newspaper from his pocket.  “See the advertisement for yourself:  ‘Leonard Tavernake, something to his advantage.’  Well, down I went to those lawyers—­your old lawyer it was—­Martin.  I told him I was on your track, and he said—­’For Heaven’s sake, send the fellow along!’ Say, Tavernake, he made me laugh the way he described your bursting in upon him and telling him to take your land for his costs, and walking out of the room like something almighty.  Why, he worked that thing so that they had to buy your land, and they took him into partnership.  He’s made a pot of money, and needs no costs from you, and there’s the money for your land and what he had of yours besides, waiting for you.”

Tavernake smoked stolidly at his pipe.  His eyes were out seaward, but his heart was beating to a new and splendid music.  To start life again, a man’s life, out in the solitudes, out in the great open spaces!  It was gorgeous, this!  He turned round and grasped Pritchard by the shoulder.

“I say,” he exclaimed, “why are you doing all this for me, Pritchard?”

Pritchard laughed.

“You did me a good turn,” he said, “and you’re a man.  You’ve the pluck—­that’s what I like.  You knew nothing, you were as green and ignorant as a young man from behind the counter of a country shop, but, my God! you’d got the right stuff, and I meant getting even with you if I could.  You’ll leave here with me to-morrow, and in three weeks we sail.”

Ruth came smiling out from the house.

“Won’t you bring your friend in to supper, Mr. Tavernake?” she begged.  “It’s good news, I hope?” she added, lowering her voice a little.

“It’s the best,” Tavernake declared, “the best!”

CHAPTER V

BEATRICE REFUSES