"Well, I am sorry you didn't make a fortune, my boy. But, rich or poor, your friends are delighted to see you, and we shall certainly keep you for dinner. I am interested in that Northwestern country myself, and I want to ask some questions about it."

CHAPTER X

IN WHICH BIG GEORGE MEETS HIS ENEMY

It was well on toward midnight when Emerson reached his hotel, and being too full of his visit with Mildred to sleep, he strolled through the lobby and into the Pompeian Room. The theatre crowds had not dispersed, and the place was a-glitter; for it was the grand-opera season. The room was so well filled that he had difficulty in finding a seat, and he made his way slowly, meditating gloomily upon the fact that out of all this concourse in which he had once figured not a single familiar face greeted him.

Finding no unoccupied table, he was about to retreat when he heard his name spoken and felt a vigorous slap upon the back.

"Boyd Emerson! By Jove, I'm glad to see you!" He turned to face an anaemic youth whose colorless, gas-bleached face was wrinkled into an expansive grin.

"h.e.l.lo, Alton!"

They shook hands like old friends, while Alton Clyde continued to express his delight.

"So you've been roughing it out in Nebraska, eh?"

"Alaska."

"So it was. I always get those places mixed. Come over and have a drink. I want to talk to you. Funny thing, I just met a Klondiker myself this evening. Great chap, too! I want you to know him: he's immense. Only watch out he don't get you full. He's an awful spender. I'm half kippered myself. His name is Froelich, but he isn't a Dutchman. Ever meet him up there?"

"I think not."

"Come on, you'll like him."

Clyde led his companion toward a table, chattering as they went. "Y' know, I'm democratic myself, and I'm fond of these rough fellows. I'd like to go out to Nebraska--"

"Alaska."

"--and punch cows and shoot a pistol and yell. I'm really tremendously rough. Here he is! Mr. Froelich, my old friend Mr. Emerson. We played football together--or, at least, he played; I was too light."

Mr. Froelich shoved back his chair and turned, exposing the face of "Fingerless" Fraser, quite expressionless save for the left eyelid, which drooped meaningly.

"'Froelich'!" said Boyd, angrily; "good heavens, Fraser, have you picked another? I thought you were going to stick to 'Frobisher.'" Turning to Clyde, he observed: "This man's name is Fraser. One of his peculiarities is a dislike of proper names. He has never found one that suited him."

"I like 'Froelich' pretty well," observed the imperturbable Fraser. "It sounds distanguay, and--"

"Don't believe anything he tells you," Boyd broke in, seating himself. "He is the most circ.u.mstantial liar in the Northwest, and if you don't watch him every minute he will sell you a hydraulic mine, or a rubber plantation, or a sponge fishery. Underneath his eccentricities, however, he is really a pretty decent fellow, and I am indebted to him for my presence here to-night."

Alton Clyde made his astonishment evident by inquiring incredulously of Fraser, "Then that scheme of yours to establish a gas plant at Nome was all--"

"Certainly!" Emerson laughed. "The incandescent lamp travels about as fast as the prospector. Nome is lighted by electricity, and has been for years."

"_Is_ it?" demanded Fraser, with an a.s.sumption of the supremest surprise.

"You know as well as I do."

"H'm! I'd forgotten. Just the same, my plan was a good one. Gas is cheaper." He reached for his gla.s.s, at which Clyde's eye fell upon his missing fingers, and the young clubman exploded:

"Well! If that's the kind of pill you are, maybe you didn't lose your mit in the Boer War either."

Emerson answered for the adventurer: "Hardly! He got blood-poisoning from a hangnail."

Clyde began to laugh uncontrollably. "Really! That's great! Oh, that's lovely! Here I've been gobbling fairy tales like a black ba.s.s at sunset.

He! he! he! I must introduce Mr. Froel--Mr. Fra--Mr. What's-his-name to the boys. He! he! he!"

It was evident that Fraser was not accustomed to this sort of treatment; his injured pride took refuge in a haughty silence, which further stirred the risibilities of Clyde until that young man's thin shoulders shook, and he doubled up, his hollow chest touching his knees. He pounded the tiles with his cane, stamped his patent-leather boots, and wept tears of joy.

"What's the joke?" demanded the rogue. "Anybody would think _I_ was the sucker."

"Where is George?" questioned Boyd, to change the subject.

"In his trundle-bed, I suppose," said Fraser, stiffly.

"Along about nine o'clock he begins to yawn like a trained seal. That's how I came to fall in with--this." He indicated the giggling Clyde. "I didn't have anything better to do."

"Did you show George around, as I asked?"

"Sure! After that fairy--_farrier_, I should say--finished his front feet, I took him out and let him look at the elevated railroad. Then he came back and hunted up the janitor of the building. He spent the evening in the bas.e.m.e.nt with the engineer. Oh, he's had a splendid day!"

"I say, Boyd, have you got another one like--like this?" Clyde asked, nodding at Fraser, who snorted indignantly.

"Not exactly. Balt is quite the ant.i.thesis of Mr. Fraser. He is a fisherman, and he has never been East before."

"He's learning the manicure business," sniffed the adventurer. "He has his nails curried every day. Says it tickles."

"Oh, glory be!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the clubman. "I must meet him, too. Let me show him the town, will you? I'll foot the bills; I'll make it something historic. Please do! I'm bored to death."

"We can't spare the time; we are here on business," said Emerson.

"Business!" Clyde remarked. "That sounds interesting. I haven't seen anybody for years who was really busy at anything that was worth being busy at. It must be a great sensation to really do something."

"Don't you do anything?"

"Oh yes; I'm as busy as a one-legged sword-dancer, but I don't _do_ anything. It's the same old thing: leases to sign, rents to collect, and that sort of rot. My agent does most of it, however. I wish I were like you, Boyd; you always were a lucky chap." Emerson smiled rather grimly at thought of the earlier part of the evening and of his present fortune.

"Oh, I mean it!" said Clyde. "Look how lucky you were at the university.

Everything came your way. Even M--" He checked himself and jerked his head in the direction of the North Side. "You know! She's never been able to see any of us fellows with a spy-gla.s.s since you left, and I have proposed regularly every full moon." He wagged his curly head solemnly and sighed.

"Well, there is only one man I'd rather see get her than you, and that's me--or I--whichever is proper."

"I'm not sure it's proper for either of us to get her," smiled Boyd.

"Well, I'm glad you've returned anyhow; for there's an added starter."