Part 16 (2/2)

Drummond found it, and walking along Main Street, turned up Portage Avenue. There was a block of traffic at the corner where the broad roads cross, and close by a crowd had gathered to read the bulletins on the front of a newspaper office. Stopping for a few minutes, Drummond studied the row of tall buildings, but saw that the number he wanted was farther on. There was, however, an imposing block some distance ahead, but this turned out to be a huge department store, and afterwards the buildings got smaller and plainer. It began to look as if Stormont was not as important a man as he had thought, and he was conscious of some disappointment as he went on until he stopped where private houses, workshops, and shabby stores ran out towards Deer Park. Then he found the number and entered a narrow, dingy building.

It was obvious that Stormont had studied economy when he chose his office, and Drummond stopped and hesitated on a landing opposite a door that badly needed painting. He began to think he had been rash in leaving his post in the Ontario town, but nerving himself with the reflection that he had a share in a silver vein, knocked at the door.

Somebody told him to come in, and he walked into a small room.

The dirty walls were hung with plans of building lots and surveys of the forest belt in Eastern Manitoba. A gla.s.s part.i.tion ran up the middle and on one side Watson sat in front of a typewriter. He looked at Drummond with surprise, but did not get up.

”Well,” he said, ”why have you come to town? Have you got a week off, or have you got fired?”

”You ought to know what I've come about, but I want to see the boss,”

Drummond rejoined.

”That's easy, anyhow,” said Watson, with a grin Drummond did not like, and indicated a door in the part.i.tion.

Drummond opened the door and saw Stormont sitting at a table covered with papers. He looked up and nodded coolly.

”Hallo!” he said. ”Mr. Drummond, isn't it? Sit down for a few minutes.”

Then picking up a letter, he knitted his brows. He did not think Drummond could give him much trouble, but he might become something of a nuisance unless he was dealt with firmly. Stormont had not long since come back from the North, feeling disappointed and savage, for he had spent a good deal of money on the expedition. Besides, things had gone wrong at the office while he was away and he had lost some profitable business.

”What can I do for you?” he asked by and by.

”I've left the store,” said Drummond. ”Thought I'd locate in Winnipeg.

One has better chances in the big cities, and I reckoned you could find me a job. Anyhow, I'll need some money.”

”That's a sure thing. But why did you come to me for it?”

”You gave me fifty dollars--”

”When did I give you fifty dollars?” Stormont interrupted with a look of surprise.

”The evening Watson took me to your room at the Dufferin House. Besides, you promised me a share in the mine.”

Stormont smiled. ”That accounts for the thing! I'm afraid you were drunker than I thought.”

”You did give me the money,” Drummond insisted. ”Are you trying to go back on your promise?”

”Oh, well,” said Stormont with an indulgent smile, ”in order to satisfy you, we'll ask Watson.” He knocked on the part.i.tion and turned to the clerk as the latter came in. ”Mr. Drummond states that I gave him fifty dollars on the evening you brought him to the Dufferin House. Do you remember anything about it?”

”Certainly not,” said Watson. ”You gave him a cigar and some liquor, though I thought he'd had enough. He fell down the stairs afterwards and made trouble for me when I saw him home.” Watson paused and resumed with a meaning smile: ”It's pretty hard to remember what happens when you've got on a big jag!”

Drummond colored angrily, but pulled himself together. ”I remember I got the money and told Mr. Stormont about the ore.”

”Now I come to think of it, you did tell me a curious story about a mysterious silver lode,” Stormont agreed. ”Somewhere in the North, wasn't it? Anyhow, I didn't give the thing much attention. You can hear tales of that kind in any miners' saloon.”

”That's so,” Watson supported him. ”Sometimes we hear them in this office when a crank prospector comes along. All the same, they're not business propositions.”

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