cksure of his
opinion, prognosticating the trend of industry with sure mastery. Bojo
was rather dazed by this academic fervor for material success; it gave
him the feeling that the world was after all only a postgraduate course.
He had left a group, with a beginning of critical amusement, when a hand
spun him around and he heard a well-known voice cry:

"Bojo--you old sinner--you come right home!"

It was Roscoe Marsh, chum of chums, rather slight, negligently dressed
among these young men of rather precise elegance, but dominating them
all by the shock of an aggressive personality that stood out against
their factoried types. Just as the generality of men incline to the
fashions of conduct, philosophy, and politics of the day, there are
certain individualities constituted by nature to be instinctively of the
opposition. Marsh, finding himself in a complacent society, became a
terrific radical, perhaps more from the necessity of dramatic sensations
which was inherent in his brilliant nature than from a profound
conviction. His features were irregular, the nose powerful and aquiline,
the eyebrows arched with a suggestion of eloquence and imagination, the
eyes gray and domineering, the mouth wide and expressive of every
changing thought, while the outstanding ears on the thin, curved head
completed an accent of oddity and obstinacy which he himself had
characterized good-humoredly when he had described himself as looking
like a poetical calf. Roscoe Marsh, the father--editor, politician, and
capitalist, one of the figures of the last generation--had died, leaving
him a fortune.

"What the deuce are you wasting time in this collection of
fashion-plates and messenger-boys for?" said Marsh when the greetings
were over. "Come out into the air where we can talk sense. When did you
come?"

"An hour ago."

"Fred and Granny have been here all summer. You're a pampered darling,
Bojo, to get a summer off. What was it--heart interest?"

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," said Bojo with a half
laugh and a whirl of his cane. "By George, Roscy, it's good to be here!"

"We'll get you to work."

"Who could help it? I say, is every one making money in this place? I've
heard nothing else since I landed."

"On paper, yes, but you don't make money till you hear it chink, as lots
will find out," said Marsh with a laugh. "However, this place's a
regular mining-camp--every one's speculating. I say, what are you going
to d