Part 11 (1/2)

”My child!” he cried, dancing about the room in a delirium of joy. ”My beloved, my beautiful daughter--was ever miller so blessed as I! Wait!”

Rus.h.i.+ng madly to the jeweled 'phone, he rang up Colonel Midas.

”Excuse me for bothering you, Colonel,” he said, excitedly, ”but this is Miller. I thought you would be interested to know that my daughter has turned the trick a little sooner than I expected. If you want to see the gold to-day instead of waiting until Monday, all you've got to do is to say so.”

The wire fairly sizzled with the reply. Of course, Colonel Midas would not wait. In fact, he'd be right up. How much did the miller think the gold would pan out?

”Oh, about a thousand dollars,” replied the miller.

”What?” roared Midas. ”A thousand dollars' worth of gold from a seven-dollar bub--bale of straw?”

”That's the a.s.say office estimate,” said the miller, with a smile. ”You can't very well go behind that.”

The answer was a long, low whistle, and within twenty minutes the great financier's car came chugging up to the door, and he entered the house, bringing with him a chemist.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”THIS IS THE GREATEST CINCH IN THE HISTORY OF FINANCE”]

”By Jingo! Miller,” he cried, after the chemist had applied every known test to the bar and declared it to be, beyond all question, the real stuff, ”by Jingo, old man, our fortune is made. This is the greatest cinch in the history of finance.”

”Looks that way,” said the miller, calmly, leaning forward and tossing the steerage ticket into the waste-basket.

”We--er--we must keep it in the family, Miller,” the Colonel added, slapping the proud father familiarly on the knee--for Gasmerilda had remembered the fairy G.o.dmother's injunction as to the use of her eyes.

”I intend to, Colonel,” said the miller, dryly. ”I'll keep it in _my_ family if you don't mind--”

Midas gasped, and then he laughed sheepishly.

”To think that I, a hardened old bachelor, should be a victim to love at first sight!” he said.

”Very funny indeed,” laughed the miller.

”What would you say to me as a son-in-law, eh?” Midas went on. ”You know I'm a decent chap, old man. No funny business about my private life--it's a good chance to get your daughter settled in life, and--”

”Well, I don't know,” said the miller, coolly. ”You are generally considered to be a fairly eligible sort of person, Midas, but my daughter can afford to marry for love as long as the straw crop holds good.”

A glitter came into Midas's eye.

”What if I were to corner the market?” he demanded.

”That would be bad for Gasmerilda and me,” the miller agreed. ”Mind you, I haven't said I disapproved of the match, but let's be perfectly frank with each other. I'm not going to sell my daughter to you or to anybody else, but you know how things run these days. A man's a millionaire to-day and a member of the down-and-out club to-morrow. Now, I don't know the first blessed thing about your prospects. You are rich now, but who knows that before 1915 you won't be in a federal jail somewhere without a nickel?”

”I see your point,” said Midas, ”and I'll settle five million on her to-morrow.”

”Real money?” he demanded.

”Real money,” said Midas.

”Done!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the miller.