"I understand. You loved none of us, perhaps, and it was because you had not had the opportunity, maybe?"

"Perhaps it was so."

"And now I will hear how it happened."

"I must first confess something that pains me."

"Oh, that confession! But maybe I am entitled to hear it?"

"Well, yes, I think so. There were three."

"Oh...."

"And you were the first choice."

"_Me?_"

"But I waited for your letter. There was a _time_ limit."

"And I was away."

"Therefore never received it in time."

"And you?"

"At Omaha I hesitated, and then decided that you did not favor it."

"O-oh!"

"So I went to Chicago, to meet the second choice."

"Such an unusual proceeding, but interesting, oh, _so_ much so. Please go on."

"_She_ lived in New York."

"In New York?"

"Was a maid on the Twentieth Century Limited."

"O-oh!"

"But sickness overtook her. She didn't get into Chicago when she was due."

"Such fate."

"I wonder at it."

"And then you got the _last_ choice."

"That is it."

Not knowing what else to do, she was so carried away with the story, she stared before her into the darkness.

"And when _did_ you receive my letter? I understand about the claim business."

"When I returned with her to Gregory."

She was silent. He was too. Both were in deep thought and what was in the mind of both was:

_What might have been._

CHAPTER VII

HER BIRTHRIGHT "FOR A MESS OF POTTAGE"

The people of Winner and vicinity had no opportunity to rush to the Farmers' State Bank, of which Eugene Crook, mentioned earlier in our story was president, and draw any portion of their money before the bank examiner's notice greeted them one morning.

The bank was closed by order of the public examiner, so that was settled. The causes became apparent the day before, although those directly interested did not understand. It was in the shape of drafts they had bought and sent away, which came back to them indirectly, marked by the bank upon which they were drawn: "No funds."

Not much excitement followed the closing, although in some manner Crook had worked into the confidence of the people since moving the bank to Winner, and was leading the four banks in the town in point of deposits.

Of course it hit many needy ones quite hard, but the people of the country had become so accustomed to adversities, that even bank failures included did not excite them.

But there happened a few days after the failure an incident that has some connection with our story. Crook went upon a journey. He was gone several days and when he returned, the unexpected happened. It caused about as much excitement as had the failure of the bank because of its cunningness.

When Jean Baptiste had ended his visit with Irene Grey, he returned to his office at the publishing house to find considerable mail awaiting him. One letter was from his attorney in Washington, and since he had won the claim for Baptiste's wife in the contest, Baptiste naturally took it for granted that it was a request for the balance of his fee. So he laid the letter aside until he had attended to all other business, and later opened and read it.

"WASHINGTON, D.C., July, 191--

"_Mr. Jean Baptiste_,

"MY DEAR SIR: I am informed through your attorney at Gregory, that your wife has sold her relinquishment on the homestead I was successful in getting the Secretary of the Interior to reverse the land commissioners decision on. I am not informed further; but inasmuch as you are living on the place, my advice is that you stick right there, and hold it. You may write and advance me the details concerning the matter, and I will assist you in a legal way in pressing your right to hold the same.

"In the meantime, kindly send me a remittance on the fee that is past due at your earliest convenience, and oblige.

"Very truly,

"PATRICK H. LOUGHRAN."

He reread the letter to be positive that he had understood it correctly.

He was thoughtful as he allowed the substance to become clear. His wife had sold her relinquishment on the claim that he had spent thirty-five hundred dollars cash for. And in so doing she had sacrificed his confidence; _had sold her birthright for a mess of pottage_. And she had not received, he was sure, perhaps one tenth part of the amount he had expended for it. He thought a little longer, and as he did so, a vision of his arch enemy rose before him. His mind went back to a day when N.J.

McCarthy in all his lordliness had with much vituperation, denounced and condemned Eugene Crook for having contested his poor daughter's place, and all the white race with him.

"And Newton Justine McCarthy," muttered Baptiste, "this is _more_ of your work."