Slater half smiled—­evidence of a convulsive mirth within.

“They’ve picked out a site for a university!” he said, bitterly.  “Cortez is going to be a seat of learning and culture.  They’re planning a park and a place for an Alaskan World’s Fair and a museum and a library.  I’ve always wondered who starts public libraries—­it’s ‘nuts.’  But I didn’t s’pose more than one or two people got foolish that way.”

O’Neil drew from his pocket a newspaper five days old, which he unfolded and opened at a full-page advertisement, headed: 

CORTEZ HOME RAILWAY

“This is running in all the coast papers,” he said, and read: 

“Our platform: 

No promotion shares.  No construction profits.

No bonds.  No incompetence.

No high-salaried officials.  No monopoly.

No passes or rebates.  No graft.

“Of Alaska, by Alaska, for Alaska.”

There was much more of a similar kind, written to appeal to the quick-profit-loving public, and it was followed by a violent attack upon the Trust and an appeal to the people of Seattle for assistance, at one dollar per share.

“Listen to this,” O’Neil went on: 

“Among the original subscribers are the following: 

“Hotels and saloons of Cortez ..... $17,000
City Council .......................15,000
Prospectors......................... 7,000
Ladies’ Guild of Cortez .............. 740
School-children of Cortez............. 420”

Tom grew red in the face and gave his characteristic snort.  “I don’t mind his stringing the City Council and the saloons, and even the Ladies’ Guild,” he growled, “but when he steals the licorice and slate-pencils from the kids it’s time he was stopped.”

Murray agreed.  “I think we are about done with Gordon.  He has led his ace.”

“I’m not sure.  This is a kind of popular uprising, like a camp-meeting.  If I went to Cortez now, some prattling school-girl would wallop me with her dinner-bucket.  We can’t shake Gordon loose:  he’s a regular splavvus.”

“What is a splavvus, Tom?” inquired Dr. Gray.

“It’s a real peculiar animal, being a cross between a bulldog and a skunk.  We have lots of ’em in Maine!”

O’Neil soon found that the accounts he had received of Gordon’s last attempt to recoup his fortunes were in no way exaggerated.  Cortez, long the plaything of the railroad-builders, had been ripe for his touch:  it rose in its wounded civic pride and greeted his appeal with frantic delight.  It was quite true that the school-children had taken stock in the enterprise:  their parents turned their own pockets inside out, and subscriptions came in a deluge.  The price of real estate doubled, quadrupled, and Gordon bought just enough to establish the price firmly.  The money he paid was deposited