every passer-by would look curiously within. On the wall above
his head a pair of fencing-foils were crossed under masks. Below
these hung two pistols, such as courteous Claude Duval used for
side-arms. Opposite were two old rifles, and beneath them two
stone beer-mugs, and a German student's pipe absurdly long and
richly ornamented. A mantel close by was filled with curiosities,
and near it hung a banjo unstrung, a tennis-racket, and a blazer of
startling colors. Plainly they were relics of German student life,
and the odd contrast they made with the rough wall and ceiling
suggested a sharp change in the fortunes of the young worker
beneath. Scarcely six months since he had been suddenly
summoned home from Germany. The reason was vague, but
having read of recent American failures, notably in Wall Street, he
knew what had happened. Reaching New York, he was startled by
the fear that his mother was dead, so gloomy was the house, so
subdued his sister's greeting, and so worn and sad his father's face.
The trouble, however, was what he had guessed, and he had
accepted it with quiet resignation. The financial wreck seemed
complete; but one resource, however, was left. Just after the war
Clayton's father had purchased mineral lands in the South, and it
was with the idea of developing these that he had encouraged the
marked scientific tastes of his son, and had sent him to a German
university. In view of his own disaster, and the fact that a financial
tide was swelling southward, his forethought seemed an
inspiration. To this resource Clayton turned eagerly; and after a
few weeks at home, which were made intolerable by straitened
circumstances, and the fancied coldness of friend and
acquaintance, he was hard at work in the heart of the Kentucky
mountains.