Mr. Windlebird's knowledge of human nature was not at fault. Muriel
jumped at the money, and a letter in her handwriting informed Roland
next morning that his slate was clean. His gratitude to Mr. Windlebird
redoubled.

"And now," said Mr. Windlebird genially, "we can talk about that money
of yours, and the best way of investing it. What you want is something
which, without being in any way what is called speculative,
nevertheless returns a fair and reasonable amount of interest. What you
want is something sound, something solid, yet something with a bit of a
kick to it, something which can't go down and may go soaring like a
rocket."

Roland quietly announced that was just what he did want, and lit
another cigar.

"Now, look here, Bleke, my boy, as a general rule I don't give tips--But
I've taken a great fancy to you, Bleke, and I'm going to break my rule.
Put your money--" he sank his voice to a compelling whisper, "put every
penny you can afford into Wildcat Reefs."

He leaned back with the benign air of the Alchemist who has just
imparted to a favorite disciple the recently discovered secret of the
philosopher's stone.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Windlebird," said Roland gratefully. "I
will."

The Napoleonic features were lightened by that rare, indulgent smile.