he little horses out.

"Bad thing to meet a logging team," he observed.

"Yes," said Hamil absently. So Malcourt let the horses run away when
they cared to; they needed it and he enjoyed it. Besides there were
never any logging teams on that road.

Malcourt inquired politely concerning the Villa Cardross and its
occupants; Hamil answered in generalities.

"You've finished there, then!"

"Practically. I may go down in the autumn to look it over once more."

"Is Cardross going to put in the Schwarzwald pigs?"

"Yes; they're ordered."

"Portlaw wants some here. I'd give ten dollars, poor as I am, if I could
get Portlaw out in the snow and fully occupied with an irritated boar."

"Under such circumstances one goes up a tree?" inquired Hamil, smiling.

"One does if one is not too fat and can shed snowshoes fast enough.
Otherwise one keeps on shooting one's 45-70. By the way, you were in New
York for a day or two. How's the market?"

"Sagging."

"Money?"

"Scarce. I saw Mr. Cardross and Acton Carrick. Nobody seems enthusiastic
over the prospect. While there are no loans being called there are few
being made. I heard rumours of course; a number of banks and trust
companies are getting themselves whispered about. Outside of that I
don't know, Malcourt, because I haven't much money and what I have is on
deposit with the Shoshone Securities Company pending a chance for some
safe and attractive investment."

"That's Cardross, Carrick & Co."

"Yes." And as they whirled into the clearing and the big, handsome house
came into view he smiled: "Is this Camp Chickadee?"

"Yes, and yonder's my cottage on Luckless Lake--a nice name," added
Malcourt, "but Portlaw says it's safer to leave the name as it stands
than to provoke the gods with boastful optimism by changing it to Lucky
Lake. Oh, it's a gay region; Lake Desolation lies just beyond that spur;
Lake Eternity east of us; Little Scalp Lake west--a fine bunch of names
for a landscape in hell; but Portlaw won't change them. West and south
the wet bones of the Sacandaga lie; and south-east you're up against the
Great Vlaie and Frenchman's Creek and Sir William's remains from Guy
Park on the Mohawk to the Fish House and all that bally Revolutionary
tommy-rot." And as he blandly drew in his horses beside the porch: "Look
who's here! Who but our rotund friend and lover of all things fat, lord
of the manor of Chickadee-dee-dee which he has taught the neighbouring
dicky-bi