larged their animals' quarters, and hired a man. They were blessed
with a pretty good crop, and the market was growing. Other settlers
had come into the valley, and there was talk of a village springing up
near-by. Henty began to wear a smile.

After the fall rush Evan settled down harder than ever to his literary
efforts. He wrote articles on the bank. As if his style had suddenly
come up to the required standard, editors began to write short letters
of excuse with returned manuscripts; then to accept. Why waste words
on the thrills Evan, yes, and Henty, experienced when they read the
breezy stuff of "X. Bankclerk" in print!

In his letters home Evan intimated that he would have a surprise for
them before long, but that was as much as he said. He filled pages
describing his and Henty's vines and figtrees, and his father came back
with: "I told you your grandfather was in you!" His mother rejoiced in
his health but longed for him home; Lou called him a "rube;" and
Frankie--Frankie did not have a chance to say anything because Evan had
never answered that letter she wrote to New York.

Now, as the young man sat on the verandah of his bungalow, not
listening to the greybirds and meadowlarks around him, he felt happy.
He and Henty were going to make a trip back to Ontario in the autumn,
and then he could meet the editors who had congratulated him on his
"good dope," as one of them had described his articles. He rattled
over the keys of his machine, after making the observation about Alfy,
and was so engrossed in his work that he did not notice the approach of
Henty.

A. P. had been to Vancouver, and was back sooner than expected. He
seemed excited.

"Evan," he cried, jumping on the verandah, "we're made men! A
syndicate wants our land! They're talking of a townsite!"

"The dickens!"

"Yes, sir. They offered me $60,000, half cash."

"You're drunk, A. P.!"

"No, sir. You know the head of the syndicate; his name is William
Watson."

CHAPTER XX.

_HIGH FINANCE AND PROMOTING._

It took Evan some time to recover from the shock association of Bill
Watson's name with a real-estate syndicate naturally produced. Then he
asked Henty bewilderedly:

"Are you going to accept the sixty thousand?"

"Am _I_ going to?"

"Yes."

"Not unless my partner is willing," replied Henty. "Isn't one of these
quarter-sections your own?"

"Yes, but you're manager of both; I don't know whether they're worth