ed his
inadvertent pun. After a moment, the mining man said: "I guess the
millinery investment won't break us; but there's no question about
Weatherbee's being a live town, and Lucile can sell goods."

"I presume next," said Mrs. Feversham with veiled irony, "we shall be
hearing of you as the first mayor of Weatherbee."

Banks shook his head gravely. "They shouldered that on to Henderson
Bailey."

"I remember," said Frederic. "Man who started the orchard excitement,
wasn't he? Got in on the ground floor and platted some of his land in city
lots. Naturally, he's running for mayor."

"He's it," responded the mining man. "The election came off Tuesday, and
he led his ticket, my, yes, clear out of sight."

"Bet you ran for something, though," responded Morganstein. "Bet they had
you up for treasurer."

Banks laughed. "There was some talk of it--my wife said they were looking
for somebody that could make good if the city money fell short--but most
of the bunch thought my lay was the Board of Control. You see, I got to
looking after things to help Bailey out, while he was busy moving his
apples or maybe his city lots. My, it got so's when Mrs. Banks couldn't
find me down to the city park, watching the men grub out sage-brush for
the new trees, she could count on my being up-stream to the water-works,
or hiking out to the lighting-plant. It's kept me rushed, all right. It
takes time to start a first-class town. It has to be done straight from
bedrock. But now that Annabel's house up Hesperides Vale is built, and the
flumes are in, she thinks likely she can run her ranch, and I think
likely,"--the prospector paused, and his eyes, with their gleam of blue
glacier ice, sought Mrs. Weatherbee's. Hers clouded a little, and she
leaned slightly towards him, waiting with hushed breath--"I think likely,"
he repeated in a higher key, "seeing's the Alameda has to be finished up,
and the fountain got in shape at the park, with the statue about due from
New York, I may as well drop Dave's project and call the deal off."

There was a silence, during which the eyes of every one rested on Beatriz.
She straightened with a great sigh; the color rushed coral-pink to her
face.

"I am--sorry--about your loss, Mr. Banks," she said, then, and her voice
fluctuated softly, "but I shall do my best--I shall make it a point of
honor--to sometime reimburse you." Her glance fell to the violets at her
belt; she singled one from the rest and, inhali