regardful of the butterfly
lady's very evident desire to be left alone, he did not at once leave the
hotel. Instead, he strolled into the office and after loitering about
there for a few moments, he was just leaving when he encountered
Penfield, Horace Penfield. Ordinarily, Hayden would have avoided him as
he would fire and pestilence; but to-night he rather went out of his way
to secure Penfield's society.

Penfield was a thin man with slightly stooping shoulders and a neck that
craned forward. He had a long pale face as narrow as a wedge, a nose as
sharp as a fox's, keen, ferret-like eyes, and white lashes. No longer
young, he yet managed to achieve this effect and retain the manner of
youth. His claims to social distinction rested on the solid basis of
fear. He was a walking bureau of information, a daily newspaper. When the
harsh vituperation of those who, having nothing more to lose, had nothing
more to gain, occasionally assailed him, he had been heard callously to
assert that he preferred being dangerous to being ineffective, and that
he would infinitely rather be a menace to society than its victim. In
short, the profession of scandal-mongering he pursued with concentration,
finesse, and infinite tact. If for himself he achieved eminence, became
master of his craft, it was doubtless sufficient recompense.

"Hello, Hayden," he said in his thin, satirical voice. "How are you and
your affairs?"

"All right, I guess," said Hayden indifferently.

For a season they talked on various subjects, falling gradually into a
discussion of the merits of certain mining propositions, until Hayden
said with premeditated suddenness:

"By the way, Penfield, have you ever heard of the Butterfly mine or
estate?"

"The Butterfly!" repeated Penfield slowly. "The Butterfly!" He pinched
his lower lip meditatively. "Let me see! One of those Mexican mines,
isn't it? Or wait a moment," shrewdly. "I may have mines on the brain
because we've been talking about them. Upon my word, Hayden," his face
flushing with shame, his professional pride sadly wounded, "I'm awfully
sorry; but to tell the truth, I can't just put my finger on it. Yet
somewhere, lately, I've heard of it. Did I read of it or hear people
speaking of it?" He drew his hand over his brow, looking really worried.
"Come on and walk down the Avenue with me," he said. "Maybe the night air
will refresh my memory, and I'll be able to think it out as we move
along."

But the ni