of course, Cal," he laughed, "which is strictly
_entre nous_. But, win or lose, this man O'Mara will be a valuable man
to have around after the thing is decided."

"You said that he reminded you of something," Caleb began rather
heavily. "It recalled something to me, too. I wonder if you remember
a little fishing trip that we took, some ten or twelve years ago,
Dexter, up into the hills? It was to the headwaters of the cast
branch, somewhere in the neighborhood of the Reserve Company's
holdings, I should say."

"Why, yes," the other answered, off-handedly. "Why, yes, now that you
mention it, I do remember. May I ask your reason for speaking of it?"

"No reason in particular," Caleb hesitated. "Only this O'Mara reminded
me of something, too--something that you said, that night at the
camp-fire."

"Well?"

Allison's monosyllable was coolly noncommittal.

"Can you remember what it was?" Caleb asked, positively uncomfortable
now.

"I think I remarked that there was a fortune for some man in that
valley, if he was far-sighted enough. Was that it?"

Then Caleb understood the challenge in his friend's voice. He thought
he understood. The names of the stockholders of the Reserve Company
were all strange to Caleb save one. The Honorable Archibald
Wickersham, who was said to represent huge foreign interests, he had
known as a boy. And Caleb had seen Dexter indescribably sore, before
this, from having overlooked, as he termed it himself, "a sure thing
bet." He laughed, more like his placid self again.

"Bless you, no!" he exclaimed. "What have I ever done to make you
believe that a mere commercial estimate would remain with me this long?
It--it was something that you said concerning the making of a
gentleman. I just wondered if you were of your early way of thinking.
I wondered if you would consider that--that----"

Allison lay back in his chair and breathed deeply, slowly--and Miss
Sarah appeared that moment in the doorway, pinker of cheek and more
tremulous of lip than her brother had ever seen her before. She
dropped Allison an old-fashioned curtsy, which was an exceedingly
frivolous performance for Sarah.

"Breakfast is served, Cal," she fairly chortled, "and there are two
very hungry children inside."

CHAPTER VII

HARRIGAN, THAT'S ME!

Never before had the air of that long, paneled room been so surcharged
with half-suppressed hilarity. At first her father merely scowled at
Barbara's