will start work."

"Look here," said Riggs in a quavering voice, "what's the matter with
my cheek? I can't feel it."

Clark glanced at him and shook with sudden laughter. "Only a bit of
frost bite,--perhaps we'd better go back to the office. It's a pity,
though,"--here he hesitated a little--"there's quite a lot more to see."

Whereupon Riggs and the other two at once assured him that unless they
sought shelter forthwith they would flatly refuse to authorize the
expenditure of any more money whatever in a country as blasted as this.
After which they repaired to the office, where Belding waited with his
blue prints and Clark outlined the possible future. As he put it,
these developments were only possible and depended on what that future
might bring forth. But as he talked, Belding, for one, knew that the
whole magnificent program had been definitely determined in that
astonishing brain.

They drove back in the open sleigh and the horses, chilled in the cold,
sent the snow flying about their ears. There was but little talk and
it was not until they drew abreast of a stone building that Stoughton
spoke.

"Nice jail you've got here," he remarked with a grin. "Looks as if
they had been expecting our crowd."

Clark laughed. "It's the home of the only pessimist I have found in
St. Marys."

"Then let's drop in and convert him." Stoughton was feeling warmer,
and the keen, dry air and brilliant sun affected him like wine.

There was an instantaneous shout of approval, and three school boys in
the shape of the three most influential men of Philadelphia rolled
happily out of the sleigh. Riggs turned with mischief in his eye and a
bright red patch on his cheek.

"Come on, Clark; we need something like this after the dose you have
given us."

At the trampling of feet, Manson looked out of the window, then stepped
deliberately to the door. The next minute Clark was busy introducing.
"Mr. Manson, this is Mr. Wimperley, auditor of the Columbian Railway
Company; Mr. Riggs, president of the Philadelphia Bank, and Mr.
Stoughton, of the American Iron Works. We're all cold and cast
ourselves on your mercy. They've had enough power canal for to-day."

Manson waved them in with just the gesture with which he motioned a
prisoner into the dock. It was the only gesture he knew. His brain
was working with unwonted rapidity, and he glanced questioningly at
Clark, but the face of the latter was impassive. The visitors