s--that's
really why I want it. But, you see, the boys will know I'm not out for
graft when I have my own story printed and circulated among them.
Besides, I won't collect any money; I'll merely carry the union up to a
point where organization is possible, and then they can entrust the
finances to anyone they choose. The thing must appeal to them as a
business proposition; I think they understand already that a union of
clerks would be self-supporting. Some of them are suspicious because
of past bunco games that have been pulled off under the guise of bank
unions; but I will leave them no room for suspicion of us fellows. As
to the moral success of the thing,--as soon as they realize it is past
the dangerous stage they will be eager to join. Every effort so far
made in the direction of an association of bankclerks has been
squelched by the head office authorities. There was one instance in
Toronto of a bank's firing quite a bunch of clerks who dared to defend
themselves against the barbarities of the business. The press didn't
even get wind of it. Things would be different now, and the boys would
soon understand that; for the whole country is discussing those
articles I have submitted, as well as the innumerable letters and
articles of endorsation that have come from other clerks and ex-clerks."

"I'm ready to pack up," said Henty suddenly, half-jokingly. "But we
haven't got the dough for our land yet. They want word at once; will I
go to town and wire them?"

"Yes," replied Evan, mechanically, his whole mind on the bank.

"And how about the girl I'm going to marry?" asked A. P., as he led his
horse up to the verandah.

"She's in my home town," said Nelson; "her name is Frankie Arling."

"Some name, too," observed Henty, dreamily; "you're not fooling me, are
you?"

"No," replied Evan, smiling inscrutably.

Together they ate a bite of supper, and then Henty set out on horseback
for the village. He returned before Evan was in bed. Next morning the
hired man was informed that he would be left alone for a day or two,
and to watch that the old sow didn't get any more of the hens.

Togged out like the homesteader sports they were, Evan and Henty left
for Vancouver. They met the syndicate, who seemed to know every foot
of land in the Nicola Valley, signed over their 320 acres, received a
cheque for $30,000 and a note with security for another thirty, and
refused to participate in a drunk.

"We must get