"Per one thing, I got a lot of other land just as good an' mebbe
better, an' I been takin' it up out of the royalties that come in.
We got enough sure money in sight to do us, but I promised Ma to
play safe, an'--we can't take everything. You kin have that
option, Mister Gray, for nothin'. You kin sell the lease inside of
a week an' make fifty thousand dollars, or you kin hold it an'
make mebbe a million. All it'll cost you is thirty-two thousand
dollars. I don't make a cent out of it."

"Thirty-two thousand dollars! Not much, is it?"

"It ain't nothin' to a man like you."

Gray nodded and smiled queerly as he thanked the nester, then from
his pockets he removed several crumpled wads of currency and a
handful of silver. These he counted before saying: "What capital I
have is entirely liquid--it's all in cash. There is eighty-seven
dollars and forty-three cents. It is every dollar in the world
that I possess."

"Huh?" Gus Briskow's bright eyes searched the smiling countenance
before him. "You're--jokin'. I thought you said you was rich."

"I am rich. I don't owe a nickel, and won't, until my hotel bill
is due, day after to-morrow. I'm in full possession of all my
faculties. I'm perfectly healthy and cheerful. I know men who
would pay a million dollars for my health alone, and another
million to enjoy my frame of mind. That's two million--"