they might as well," said Denver, "because their claims are not
worth fighting for and there's a Miners' Committee going to call on 'em.
I'm going along myself in an advisory capacity, and my advice will be to
beat it. And if you'll take a tip from me you'll hire a couple of miners
and put them to work on your claims."

"I'll do it to-morrow," agreed Bunker enthusiastically. "I've got a
couple of nibbles from some real mining men--not some of these little,
one-candle power promoters but the kind that pay with certified
checks--and if I can open up those claims and just get a color of copper
I'm fixed, boy, that's all there is to it. Come on now, let's go in to
dinner."

The memory of that dinner, and of the music that followed it, remained
long in Denver's mind; and later in the evening, when the lights were
low and her parents had gone to their rest, Drusilla sang the
"Barcarolle" from Hoffmann. She sang it very softly, so as not to
disturb them, but the look in her eyes recalled something to Denver and
as he was leaving he asked her a question. It was not if she loved him,
for that would be unfair and might spoil an otherwise perfect evening;
but he had been wondering as he listened whether she had not seen him
that first time--when he had slipped down and listened from the shadows.

And when he asked her she smiled up at him tremulously and nodded her
head very slowly; and then she whispered that she had always loved him
for it, just for listening and going away. She had been downcast that
night but his presence had been a comfort--it had persuaded her at last
that she could sing. She had sung the "Barcarolle" again, on that other
night, when he had stepped out so boldly from the shadows; but it was
the first time that she loved him for it, when he was still a total
stranger and had come just to hear her sing. There was more that she
said to him and when he had to go she smiled again and gave him her
hand, but he did not suggest a kiss. She was keeping that for him, until
she had been to New York and run the gauntlet of the tenors.

This was the high spot in Denver's life, when he had stood upon
Parnassus and beheld everything that was good and beautiful; but in the
morning he put on his old digging clothes again and went to work in the
mine. He had seen her and it was enough; now to break out the ore and
win her for his own. For he was poor, and she was poor, and how could
she succeed without money? But if he co