Weatherbee's father was English; the younger son of an old and knighted
family."

"I know," answered Tisdale dryly. "Here in the northwest we call such sons
remittance men. They are paid generous allowances, sometimes, to come to
America and stay."

"That's unfair," Foster flamed. "You have no right to say it. He came to
California when he was just a young fellow to invest a small inheritance.
He doubled it twice in a few years. Then he was persuaded to put his money
in an old, low-grade gold mine. The company made improvements, built a
flume thirty miles long to bring water to the property for development,
but it was hardly finished when a State law was passed prohibiting
hydraulic mining. It practically ruined him. He had nothing to depend on
then but a small annuity."

"Meantime," supplemented Tisdale, "he had married his Spanish señorita and
her inheritance, the old rancheria, was sunk with his own in the gold
mine. Then he began to play fast and loose with his annuity at the San
Francisco stock exchange."

"He hoped to make good quickly. He was getting past his prime, with his
daughter's future to be secured. But it got to be a habit and, after the
death of his wife, a passion. His figure was well known on the street; he
was called a plunger. Some days he made fortunes; the next lost them.
Still he was the same distinguished, courteous gentleman to the end."

"And that came on the stock exchange, after a prolonged strain. David
Weatherbee found him and took him home." Tisdale paused, then went on,
still regarding Foster with that upward look from under his forbidding