unctuous voice. A stout man with a shrewd time-serving face leaned
forward. "Don't let it give you a thought, doctor. What do you think of
the prospects for wheat?"

"Never better, never better. They say the Northern crops will fail, but
it's a lie. They can't fail. You needn't worry, Meeker. Don't pull that
long face, sir; I don't like it."

"The reports are not very encouraging," began a man of bile and nerves
and melancholy mien. "And this early rain--"

"Don't contradict me, sir," cried Webster. "I say they can't fail. They
haven't failed for eight years. Why should they fail now?"

"No reason at all, sir--no reason at all," replied the victim,
hurriedly. "It does me good to hear your prognostications."

"I hear there is a slight rise in Con. Virginia," interposed Mrs. Holt,
who had cultivated tact.

"Nonsense!" almost shouted the tyrant. The heavy silver fork of the
Moreños fell to his plate with a crash. "The mine's as rotten as an old
lung. There isn't a handful of decent ore left in her. No more
clodhoppers 'll get rich out of that mine. You haven't been investing,
have you?" His ferret eyes darted from one face to another. "If you
have, don't you ever darken my doors again! I don't approve of
stock-gambling, and you know it."

The guests, one and all, assured him that not one of their hard-earned
dollars had gone to the stock-market.