upon the little town like some black tornado,
closing down the mines, shutting up the gambling halls and great
saloons, nailing up the doors, even of the Sampler, for years to come.

"Them was the times when there was a lot of undertakers around here
besides me," Chastine went on. "Everybody was an undertaker then.
Lor', Boy, how that thing hit. We 'd been getting along pretty well at
ninety-five cents and a dollar an ounce for silver, and there was men
around here wearing hats that was the biggest in the shop, but that did
n't come anywhere near fittin' 'em. And then, all of a sudden, it hit!
We used to get in all our quotations in those days over the telephone,
and every morning I 'd phone down to Old Man Saxby that owned the
Sampler then to find out how the New York market stood. The treasury,
you know, had been buying up three or four million ounces of silver a
month for minting. Then some high-falutin' Congressman got the idea
they didn't want to do that any more, and he began to talk. Well, one
morning, I telephoned down, and silver 'd dropped to eighty-five. The
next morning it went to seventy. The House or the Senate, I 've
forgotten which, had passed the demonetization bill. After that,
things dragged along and then--I telephoned down again.

"'What's the quotation on silver?' I asked him."

"'Hell,' says Old Man Saxby, 'there ain't any quotation! Close 'er
up--close up everything. They 've passed the demonetization bill, the
president 's going to sign it, and you ain't got a job.'

"And young feller--" Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses
again, "that was some real disappointment. And it's a lot worse than
you 're liable to get in a minute."

He turned to the furnace and took out the pottery dish in which the
sample had been smelting, white-hot now. He cooled it and tinkered
with his chemicals. He fussed with his scales, he adjusted his
glasses, he coughed once or twice in an embarrassed manner; finally to
turn to Fairchild.

"Young man," he queried, "it ain't any of my business, but where 'd you
get this ore?"

"Out of my mine, the Blue Poppy!"

"Sure you ain't been visiting?"

"What do you mean?" Fairchild was staring at him in wonderment.

Old Undertaker Chastine rubbed his hands on his big apron and continued
to look over his glasses.

"What 'll you take for the Blue Poppy mine, Son?"

"Why--it's not for sale."

"Sure it ain't going to be--soon?"

"Absolutely n