mix.” An’ that’s true. In these Canadian mining camps you horn in with some real tough boys – yes, sir. They’re sump’n’ fierce.’
‘I quite understood the position,’ said Bertie Claude, who hadn’t. ‘I flatter myself I know men. If I haven’t shown that in Homo Sum then I’ve failed in expression.’
‘Sure,’ said Mr Lomer lazily, and added another ‘Sure!’ to ram home the first. ‘That’s a pretty good book. When you give it to me at King Edward Hotel I thought it was sump’n’ about arithmetic. But ’tis mighty good poetry, every line startin’ with big letters an’ the end of every line sounding like the end word in the line before. I said to my secretary, “That Mr Staffen must have a brain.” How you get the ideas beats me. That one about the princess who comes out of a clam–’
‘An oyster – she was the embodiment of the pearl,’ Bertie hastened to explain. ‘You mean The White Maiden?’
Lomer nodded lazily.
‘That was great. I never read poetry till I read that; it just made me want to cry like a great big fool! If I had your gifts I wouldn’t be loafin’ round Ontario prospecting. No, sir.’
‘It is a gift,’ said Mr Staffen after thought. ‘You say you have the money for the company?’
‘Every cent. I’m not in a position to offer a single share – that’s true. Not that you need worry about that. I’ve reserved a few from promotion. No, sir, I never had any intention of allowing you to pay a cent.’
He knocked off the ash of his cigar and frowned.
‘You’ve been mighty nice to me, Mr Staffen,’ he said slowly, ‘and though I don’t feel called upon to tell every man my business, you’re such an honest fellow that I feel sort of confident about you. This mine means nothing.’
Bertie Claude’s eyebrows rose.
‘I don’t quite get you,’ he said.
Art’s smile was slow and a little sad.
‘Doesn’t it occur to you that if I’ve got the capital for that property, it was foolish of me to take a trip to Europe?’
Bertie had certainly wondered why.
‘Selling that mine was like selling bars of gold. It didn’t want any doing; I could have sold it if I’d been living in the Amaganni Forest. No, sir, I’m here on business that would make your hair stand up if you knew.’
He rose abruptly and paced the room with quick, nervous strides, his brow furrowed in thought.
‘You’re a whale of a poet,’ he said suddenly. ‘Maybe you’ve got more imagination than most people. What does the mine mean for me? A few hundred thousand dollars’ profit.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What are you doing on Wednesday?’
The brusqueness of the question took Bertie Claude aback.
‘On Wednesday? Well, I don’t know that I’m doing anything.’
Mr Lomer bit his lip thoughtfully.
‘I’ve got a little house on the river. Come down and spend a night with me, and I’ll let you into a secret that the newspapers would give a million dollars to know. If you read it in a book you wouldn’t believe it. Maybe one day you can write it. It would take a man with your imagination to put it over. Say, I’ll tell you now.’
And then, with some hesitation, Mr Lomer told his story.
‘Politics, and all that, I know nothing about. But I do know that some of the royalty that’ve been kicked out have been feeling the pinch and there’s one from one country – no names. My interest in the place was about the same as yours in Piketown, Saskatchewan, but about six months ago I met up with a couple of these people. They came out of the United States in a hurry, with a sheriff’s posse behind them, and I happened to be staying on a farm near the border when they turned up. And what do you think they’d been doing?’
Mr Staffen shook his head.
‘Peddling emeralds,’ said the other soberly.
‘Emeralds? Peddling? What do you mean – trying to sell emeralds?’
Art nodded.
‘Yes, sir. One had a paper bag full of ’em, all sizes. I bought the
‘I quite understood the position,’ said Bertie Claude, who hadn’t. ‘I flatter myself I know men. If I haven’t shown that in Homo Sum then I’ve failed in expression.’
‘Sure,’ said Mr Lomer lazily, and added another ‘Sure!’ to ram home the first. ‘That’s a pretty good book. When you give it to me at King Edward Hotel I thought it was sump’n’ about arithmetic. But ’tis mighty good poetry, every line startin’ with big letters an’ the end of every line sounding like the end word in the line before. I said to my secretary, “That Mr Staffen must have a brain.” How you get the ideas beats me. That one about the princess who comes out of a clam–’
‘An oyster – she was the embodiment of the pearl,’ Bertie hastened to explain. ‘You mean The White Maiden?’
Lomer nodded lazily.
‘That was great. I never read poetry till I read that; it just made me want to cry like a great big fool! If I had your gifts I wouldn’t be loafin’ round Ontario prospecting. No, sir.’
‘It is a gift,’ said Mr Staffen after thought. ‘You say you have the money for the company?’
‘Every cent. I’m not in a position to offer a single share – that’s true. Not that you need worry about that. I’ve reserved a few from promotion. No, sir, I never had any intention of allowing you to pay a cent.’
He knocked off the ash of his cigar and frowned.
‘You’ve been mighty nice to me, Mr Staffen,’ he said slowly, ‘and though I don’t feel called upon to tell every man my business, you’re such an honest fellow that I feel sort of confident about you. This mine means nothing.’
Bertie Claude’s eyebrows rose.
‘I don’t quite get you,’ he said.
Art’s smile was slow and a little sad.
‘Doesn’t it occur to you that if I’ve got the capital for that property, it was foolish of me to take a trip to Europe?’
Bertie had certainly wondered why.
‘Selling that mine was like selling bars of gold. It didn’t want any doing; I could have sold it if I’d been living in the Amaganni Forest. No, sir, I’m here on business that would make your hair stand up if you knew.’
He rose abruptly and paced the room with quick, nervous strides, his brow furrowed in thought.
‘You’re a whale of a poet,’ he said suddenly. ‘Maybe you’ve got more imagination than most people. What does the mine mean for me? A few hundred thousand dollars’ profit.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What are you doing on Wednesday?’
The brusqueness of the question took Bertie Claude aback.
‘On Wednesday? Well, I don’t know that I’m doing anything.’
Mr Lomer bit his lip thoughtfully.
‘I’ve got a little house on the river. Come down and spend a night with me, and I’ll let you into a secret that the newspapers would give a million dollars to know. If you read it in a book you wouldn’t believe it. Maybe one day you can write it. It would take a man with your imagination to put it over. Say, I’ll tell you now.’
And then, with some hesitation, Mr Lomer told his story.
‘Politics, and all that, I know nothing about. But I do know that some of the royalty that’ve been kicked out have been feeling the pinch and there’s one from one country – no names. My interest in the place was about the same as yours in Piketown, Saskatchewan, but about six months ago I met up with a couple of these people. They came out of the United States in a hurry, with a sheriff’s posse behind them, and I happened to be staying on a farm near the border when they turned up. And what do you think they’d been doing?’
Mr Staffen shook his head.
‘Peddling emeralds,’ said the other soberly.
‘Emeralds? Peddling? What do you mean – trying to sell emeralds?’
Art nodded.
‘Yes, sir. One had a paper bag full of ’em, all sizes. I bought the
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