tter first, Joe."

Every eye was on Brewster as he tore open the envelope. His face was
expressive. There was wonder in it, then incredulity, then joy. He
threw the letter to Bragdon, clasped Peggy in his arms spasmodically,
and then, releasing her, dashed for the hall like one bereft of reason.

"It's Nopper Harrison!" he cried, and a moment later the tall visitor
was dragged into the circle. "Nopper" was quite overcome by the
heartiness of his welcome.

"You are an angel, Nopper, God bless you!" said Monty, with convincing
emphasis. "Joe, read that letter aloud and then advertise for the
return of those Boston terriers!"

Bragdon's hands trembled and his voice was not sure as he translated
the scrawl, "Nopper" Harrison standing behind him for the gleeful
purpose of prompting him when the writing was beyond the range of human
intelligence:

HOLLAND HOUSE, Sept. 23, 19--

"MR. MONTGOMERY BREWSTER,

"My Dear Boy:

"So you thought I had given you the slip, eh? Didn't think I'd show up
here and do my part? Well, I don't blame you; I suppose I've acted like
a damned idiot, but so long as it turns out O.K. there's no harm done.
The wolf won't gnaw very much of a hole in your door, I reckon. This
letter introduces my secretary, Mr. Oliver Harrison. He came to me last
June, out in Butte, with the prospectus of a claim he had staked out up
in the mountains. What he wanted was backing and he had such a good
show to win out that I went into cahoots with him. He's got a mine up
there that is dead sure to yield millions. Seems as though he has to
give you half of the yield, though. Says you grub-staked him. Good
fellow, this Harrison. Needed a secretary and man of affairs, so took
him into my office. You can see that he did not take me up into the
mountains to murder me, as the papers say this morning. Damned rot.
Nobody's business but my own if I concluded to come east without
telling everybody in Butte about it.

"I am here and so is the money. Got in last night. Harrison came from
Chicago a day ahead of me. I went to the office of G. & R. at eight
this morning. Found them in a hell of a stew. Thought I'd skipped out
or been murdered. Money all gone, everything gone to smash. That's what
they thought. Don't blame 'em much. You see it was this way: I
concluded to follow out the terms of the will and deliver the goods in
person. I got together all of Jim Sedgwick's stuff and did a lot of
other fool things, I suppose,