efforts. No contract will stand on presentation of any such evidence as
that before a court."

"I am quite willing to leave that to a court, if I have to," Reade
rejoined. His tones were decidedly cold. "Mr. Bascomb, even if I were
inclined to forfeit the contract I would have no legal right to do so
without the approval of my partner, Hazelton."

"Humph! He's dead," snorted the president.

"That yet remains to be proved, sir," Tom answered huskily, his voice
breaking slightly at thought of Harry.

"How on earth do you think you could defend a contract against a wealthy
company like ours? Why, we could swamp you under our loose change alone.
How much money have you in the world? Two or three thousand dollars,
perhaps."

"I've a little more than that," Tom Reade smiled. "For one thing, I'm a
third owner in the Ambition mine, on Indian Smoke Range, Nevada, and the
Ambition has been a dividend payer almost from the start. Hazelton owns
another third of the mine."

"Eh?" gasped Mr. Bascomb, plainly taken aback.

"Oh, we're not millionaires," Tom laughed easily. "Yet I fancy Hazelton
and I could raise enough money to fight any breach-of-contract case in
court. With a steady-paying mine, you know, we could even discount to
some extent the earnings of future years."

"Oh, well, we don't want hard feelings," urged Mr. Bascomb, his manner
becoming more peaceable. "The plain truth is, Reade, that we're utterly
dissatisfied with your way of managing things here. When you know how the
Melliston Company feels toward you, you don't want to be impudent enough to
insist on hanging on, do you?"

"I am certain that I speak for my partner, sir, when I state that we won't
drop the contract until we have fulfilled it," Tom muttered, coolly, but
with great firmness.

"What's all this dispute about anyway, Bascomb?" a voice called cheerily
from the hallway.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Prenter?" asked Mr. Bascomb, turning and not looking
overjoyed at the interruption.

Simon F. Prenter was treasurer of the Melliston Company. Tom had met him
at the time of signing the engineers' contract with the company. Now Reade
sprang up to place a chair for the new arrival.

"What was all the row about?" Mr. Prenter asked affably. He was a man of
about forty-five, rather stout, with light blue eyes that looked at one
with engaging candor.

"I have been suggesting to Reade that he might resign," replied Mr.
Bascomb, stiffly.