d over his glasses. "You 're
just like all the rest. You 're hoping. That's what they all do; they
come in here with their eyes blazing like a grate fire and their faces
all lighted up as bright as an Italian cathedral. And they tell me
they 've got the world by the tail. Then I take their specimens and I
put 'em over the hurdles,--and half the time they go out wishing there
was n't any such person in the world as an assayer. Boy," and he
pursed his lips, "I 've buried more fortunes than you could shake a
stick at. I 've seen men come in here millionaires and go out
paupers--just because I 've had to tell 'em the truth. And I 'm
soft-hearted. I would n't kill a flea--not even if it was eatin' up
the best bird dog that ever set a pa'tridge. And just because o' that,
I 've adopted the system of taking all hope out of a fellow right in
the beginning. Then if you 've really got something, it's a joyful
surprise. If you ain't, the disappointment don't hurt so much. So
trot 'er out and let the old Undertaker have a look at 'er. But I 'm
telling you right at the start that it won't amount to much."

Sobered now, Fairchild reached for his tobacco can, which had been
stuffed full of every scrap of slime that he and 'Arry had been able to
drag from the powder hole. Evidently, his drill had been in the ore,
whatever it was, for some time before he realized it; the can was
heavy, exceedingly heavy, giving evidence of purity of something at
least. But Undertaker Chastine shook his head.

"Can't tell," he announced. "Feels heavy, looks black and all that.
But it might not be anything but straight lead with a sprinkling of
silver. I 've seen stuff that looked a lot better than this not run
more 'n fifteen dollars to the ton. And then again--"

He began to tinker about with his pottery. He dragged out a scoop from
somewhere and prepared various white powders. Then he turned to the
furnace, with its high-chimneyed draft, and filled a container with the
contents of the tobacco can.

"Let 'er roast, Son," he announced. "That's the only way. Let 'er
roast--and while it's getting hot, well, you just cool your heels."

Long waiting--while the eccentric old assayer told doleful tales of
other days, tales of other men who had rushed in, just like Fairchild,
with their sample of ore, only to depart with the knowledge that they
were no richer than before, days when the news of the demonetization of
silver swooped down