eamer, Crustback & Company, Capitalists, a tall,
broad-shouldered man, with a strongly cut nose and chin and keen, gray
eyes, that, through long habitude, weighed chances with an infallible
appraisement, to whom Keith had a letter from an acquaintance, one of
those casual letters that mean anything or nothing, informed him frankly
that he had "neither time nor inclination to discuss enterprises,
ninety-nine out of every hundred of which were frauds, and the hundredth
generally a failure."

"This is not a fraud," said Keith, hotly, rising. "I do not indorse
frauds, sir." He began to draw on his gloves. "If I cannot satisfy any
reasonable man of the fact I state, I am willing to fail. I ought to
fail." With a bow, he turned to the door.

Something in Keith's assurance went further with the shrewd-eyed
capitalist than his politeness had done. He shot a swift glance as he
was retiring toward the door.

"Why didn't Wickersham make money down there?" he demanded, half in
query, half in denial, gazing keenly over his gold-rimmed glasses. "He
usually makes money, even if others lose it."

Mr. Creamer had his own reasons for not liking Wickersham.

Keith was standing at the door.

"For two or three reasons. One was that he underestimated the people who
live down there, and thought he could force them into selling him their
lands, and so lost the best properties there."

"The lands you have, I suppose?" said the banker, looking again at Keith
quickly.

"Yes, the lands I have, though you don't believe it," said Keith,
looking him calmly in the eyes.

The banker was gazing at the young man ironically; but, as he observed
him, his credulity began to give way.

That stamp of truth which men recognize was written on him unmistakably.
Mr. Creamer's mind worked quickly.

"By the way, you came from down there. Did you know a young man named
Rhodes? He was an engineer. Went over the line."

Keith's eyes brightened. "He is one of my best friends. He is in Russia
now."

Mr. Creamer nodded. "What do you think of him?"

"He is one of the best."

Mr. Creamer nodded. He did not think it necessary to tell Keith that
Rhodes was paying his addresses to his daughter.

"You write to him," said Keith. "He will tell you just what I have. Tell
him they are the Rawson lands."

Keith opened the door. "Good morning, sir."

"One moment!" Mr. Creamer leaned back in his chair. "Whom else do you
know here?" he asked after a second.