all his days. For he looked at the race through the individual, unguessing that the glory of mankind is to look at the individaul through the race.
Presently Leigh's words drew him into the talk again.
"Dick, did you see that old fellow who came up with one of those bogus prospectuses last week? A baby-faced old buffer with a downy beard and not enough snap to curse with when he found he'd been done."
"Yes, I saw him. Ducane sent him on to me."
"Well? What are you going to do about it?" demanded Leigh.
"What do you expect us to do. Grey Wolf is not the first place to be boomed in this way, and it won't be the last. I once bought shares in a gold-mine that was three miles out at sea myself. Such things must happen, you know. We invite it when we will buy on paper."
"You call it a boom," said Bond. "It will kill the place."
"Not it. A German came up lately with scrip that showed a fine river-frontage—but unfortunately he found that he had to go into the river to get it. But he liked the land, and he bought that genuine frontage of Robison's near Pitcher Portage." He smiled gently. "Robison is advertising us quite a little bit, I think," he added.
He said it again to himself as he rode over to Ducane's for supper a little later. But this time he added Ducane's name, and under the wide dark tent of trees where sweet scents moved the birds answered him in cheerful, rollicking song. By the trail the yellow catkins of the pussy-willow were swaying, and Dick came with their pollen on him to the dining-room, where Ducane was working at a roll-top desk. Ducane swept the papers into a drawer and locked it instantly, and Dick followed the disappearance of the bunch of keys into his pocket with the eyes of desire. The handling of that bunch for such a little while might mean so much.
Throughout the meal Ducane was moody and irritable. He smoked a cigar between his mouthfuls, scattering the ash on the tablecloth. Jennifer's eyes caught Dick's, and she smiled bravely.
"Isn't he dreadful?" she said. "It is always a cigar
