uld not be frank. Let us be frank
and open, above all things."

"I wish to be so, I assure you," was Solomon's meek reply. "When I
offered you a hundred pounds for your bargain, I think I showed you that
deception was no part of my nature. In all matters of business I always
go straight to the point at once."

"As in the present instance, for example," remarked the guest, with an
imperturbable smile.

"I am coming to the point, Mr. Balfour--once for all. I will give you a
thousand pounds down for that Crompton lot--twice the money that you
gave for it within a month; that's twelve hundred per cent, per annum."

Balfour shook his head. "I am not a religious man, my dear Sir--far from
it. But I believe, like Miss Joanna yonder, in inspirations: all my
whims are inspirations, and therefore sacred. It was an inspiration that
made me buy Wheal Danes, and I mean to keep it. If you offered me ten
thousand pounds, I'd keep it."

Solomon was silent for a while, his heavy brows knit in thought; then
once again he advanced to the attack. "You may keep it, and yet share
the profit, Mr. Balfour."

"The profit?"

"Ay, the profit. I told you I was going to be frank with you, but you
would never guess _how_ frank. I am about to put thousands a year into
your pocket, on condition that you will let me fill my own at the same
rate. We were talking of partnerships just now; let us be partners in
Wheal Danes."

"Balfour and Coe sounds natural enough," returned the other, coolly.
"But I must hear your plan."

"My plan is a secret--invaluable, indeed, as such--but which, once told,
will be worth nothing--that is, to _me_."

"You may do as you like, my friend, about revealing it," yawned Mr.
Balfour. "I care nothing for your plan; only, until I hear it I stick to
my plot, my lot, my acreage. Tell me the whole story without
reservation--don't attempt to deceive me on the slightest point--and
then you shall have your way. We will divide this land of gold between
us, or, as seems to me much more likely, browse like twin donkeys on its
crop of thistles."

"I have nothing but your bare word to trust to," said Solomon,
doubtfully; "but still, I must risk it. Come, it's a bargain. Then,
here's my hand upon it."

"Never mind my hand, my good friend," returned the other, coolly. "In
the part of the world from which I hailed last, folks didn't shake
hands, and I've fallen out of the habit. Come, give us this story of
Wheal Danes."

"I