ticularly awkward to Symes because he had no
assets. With the singular improvidence which distinguished him he had
not provided for this exigency before leaving Crowheart. True, he had
made a vague calculation which would seem to indicate that he had
sufficient funds to last the trip, but it was more extended than he had
anticipated and he had forgotten to deduct the amount of the checks
which he had given in payment for the champagne provided in such
unstinted quantities by "Hank" Terriberry.

Not only was Symes without reserve funds but he had a large hotel bill
owing. Yes, it was high time he was "doing something." "Doing something"
to Mr. Symes, meant devising some means of securing an income without
physical and no great mental effort, something which should be
compatible with the notable House of Symes.

Had he borne any other than that sacred name he would have turned to
insurance or a mail order business with the same unerring instinct with
which the sunflower turns to the sun, but this avenue was closed to him
by the necessity of preserving the dignity of his name. It was necessary
for him as a Symes to promote some enterprise which would give him the
power and prestige in the community which belonged to him.

Mr. Symes had been East before with this end in view. As he himself
observed, "he never went East except to eat oysters and raise money." He
had been much more successful as an oyster eater than a promoter. There
was that vein of coking coal over beyond the "Limestone Rim"; he nearly
landed that, but the investors discovered too soon that it was 150 miles
from a railroad. There was an embryo coal mine back in the hills--a fine
proposition but open to the same objection. Also an asbestos deposit,
valueless for the same reason. He had tried copper prospects with
startling assays and had found himself shunned nor had mountains of
marble aroused the enthusiasm of Capital. They had listened with marked
coldness to his story of a wonderful oil seepage and had turned a deaf
ear on natural gas. He had baited a hook with a stratum of gypsum which
would furnish the world with cement. Capital had barely sniffed at the
bait. Nor had banks of shale adapted to the making of a perfect brick
appealed to its jaded palate. But Symes was never at a loss for
something to promote, for there was always a nebula of schemes vaguely
present in his prolific brain. Irrigation was the opportunity of the
moment and he meant to grab