Part 9 (1/2)

On the morning of the sixth day's promenade, however, Colonel Midas, having solved the particular problem upon which his mind had been set for the past week or ten days, became more observant, and, after the miller had walked at his side for several blocks, he remarked the fact, and with emotions that were not altogether pleasant. Wherefore, he quickened his footsteps in order that he might leave the intruder behind, but the miller quickened his also and remained alongside.

Colonel Midas stopped short in his walk before an art-shop window, and gazed in at the paintings therein displayed.

The miller likewise, his head c.o.c.ked knowingly to one side like that of a connoisseur, paused and gazed in at the marvels of the brush. The Colonel, with a sudden jerky turn, leaped from the window to the gutter-curb and boarded a moving omnibus with surprising agility for a man of his years. But he was not too quick for his pursuer, for the miller, though scarcely able to afford the expense, immediately sprang aboard the same vehicle and took the seat beside him. Then for the first time the Colonel addressed him, and, there being no ladies upon the omnibus at that early hour, in terms rather more forcible than polite.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”]

”What do you think you are doing?” he demanded, frowning upon his pursuer.

”Riding in a 'bus,” replied the miller, with a pleasant smile.

”Are you trying to shadow me?” roared the Colonel.

”I'd make a mighty poor eclipse for you, Colonel Midas,” said the miller, suavely, ”but to tell you the truth,” he added, a sudden idea having flashed across his mind, which in the absence of anything else to say in explanation of his conduct seemed as good as any other excuse he could invent, ”there _is_ a little matter I'd like to bring to your attention.”

”Bombs?” asked the Colonel, moving away apprehensively, noticing that the miller had put his hand into his pocket, and fearing that he had, perhaps, encountered a crank who designed to do him harm.

”No, indeed,” laughed the miller. ”Not in such close quarters as this.

When I throw a bomb at anybody I shall take care to provide a safety net for myself.”

”Ha!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Colonel, with a deep sigh of relief. ”Book-agent?”

”Nothing in it,” said the miller. ”Work too heavy for the profits. No, sir, I am neither a book-agent nor an anarchist. I am nothing but a poor miller with an ingrowing income, but I have a beautiful daughter who--”

”Oh yes,” interrupted Midas, with a nod. ”I remember now. I've heard of you. You preferred to remain independent instead of selling out to the Trust. You tried to discount some of your notes at the Pactolean Trust Company, of which I am president, the other day.”

”Yes,” said the miller, ”and you refused them.”

”Naturally,” laughed Midas. ”A beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller, is a lovely possession, but she's mighty poor security for a loan. About the worst in the market. Especially yours. I've seen Miss Miller at the opera several times and have wondered how you managed it. It would cost more than the face value of your notes to support the security for one week in the style to which she is accustomed.”

”That's true enough,” said the miller, ”and n.o.body knows it better than I do. Nevertheless, you made a mistake. You have possibly never heard of her wonderful gift.”

”No,” said the magnate. ”I was not aware that the young lady had any other gifts than beauty and a father with a little credit left.”

”Well, be that as it may,” retorted the miller, ”she has one great gift.

She can spin straw into gold.”

”What?” cried Midas, becoming interested at once.

”Yes, sir,” the miller went on. ”She has marvellous powers in that direction. If she hadn't I'd have been up a tree long ago.”

”I had heard of her father's ability to turn hot air into Russian sables and diamond necklaces, but this straw business is something new,” said Midas.

”I thought you would so regard it,” said the miller, confidently, ”and that is why I have been trying to get a word with you for the past week.

You are the only man I know in the financial world who is known to have the enterprise and the courage to go into a little gamble that other people would laugh at. You have that prime quality of success, Colonel Midas, that is known to mankind as nerve. You are always willing to sit in any kind of a game that shows a glimmer of profit in the perspective, and that is why I bring this matter to you instead of to my friend Rockernegie, a man utterly without imagination and blind to many a sure thing because he can't understand it.”

The Colonel, who was not unsusceptible to flattery, was visibly impressed by this tribute. He scratched his head thoughtfully for a moment.

”See here, Mr. Miller,” he said, after a brief communion with himself, ”if this story is true, why are you trying to discount your notes at the Pactolean Trust Company? Why don't you get a bale of straw and have your daughter turn it over a few times?”