"
"Talking silver mine?" inquired MacPherson, putting his quizzical face
in at the door.
"No," returned Stoddard. "We were just mentioning my pestilent
cotton-mill projects. By this time next year, you and Hardwick will be
wanting to have me abated as a nuisance."
"No, no," remonstrated MacPherson, coming in and leaning with
affectionate familiarity on the younger man's chair. "There's no
pestilence in you, Gray. You couldn't be a nuisance if you tried. People
who will work out their theories stand to do good in the world; it's
only the fellows who are content with bellowing them out that I
object to."
"Better be careful!" laughed Stoddard. "We'll make you vice-president of
the company."
"Is that an offer?" countered MacPherson swiftly. "I've got a bit of
money to invest in this county; and Hardwick has ever a new
brother-in-law or such that looks longingly at my shoes."
"You'd furnish the conservative element, surely," debated Stoddard.
"I'd keep you from bankruptcy," grunted the Scotchman, as he laid a
small book on Gray's desk. "I doubt not Providence demands it of me."
Evening was closing in with a greenish-yellow sunset, and a big full
moon pushing up to whiten the sky above it. It was late March now, and
the air was full of vernal promise. Johnnie stepped out on the porch and
glanced toward the west.
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