ehaved so scurvily all these years.

Anderson watched the speaker intently. Presently he began to put
questions--close, technical questions. His father's eyes--till then
eager and greedy--began to flicker. Anderson perceived an unwelcome
surprise--annoyance--

"You knew, of course, that I was a mining engineer?" he said at last,
pulling up in his examination.

"Well, I heard of you that onst at Dawson City," was the slow reply. "I
supposed you were nosin' round like the rest."

"Why, I didn't go as a mere prospector! I'd had my training at
Montreal." And Anderson resumed his questions.

But McEwen presently took no pains to answer them. He grew indeed less
and less communicative. The exact locality of the mine, the names of the
partners, the precise machinery required--Anderson, in the end, could
get at neither the one nor the other. And before many more minutes had
passed he had convinced himself that he was wasting his time. That there
was some swindling plot in his father's mind he was certain; he was
probably the tool of some shrewder confederates, who had no doubt sent
him to Montreal after his legacy, and would fleece him on his return.

"By the way, Aunt Sykes's money, how much was it?" Anderson asked him
suddenly. "I suppose you could draw on that?"

McEwen could not be got to give a plain answer. It wasn't near enough,
anyhow; not near. The evasion seemed to Anderson purposeless; the mere
shifting and doubling that comes of long years of dishonest living. And
again the question stabbed his consciousness--were his children
justified in casting him so inexorably adrift?

"Well, I'd better run down and have a look," he said at last. "If it's a
good thing I dare say I can find you the dollars."

"Run down--where?" asked McEwen sharply.

"To the mine, of course. I might spare the time next week."

"No need to trouble yourself. My pardners wouldn't thank me for
betraying their secrets."

"Well, you couldn't expect me to provide the money without knowing a bit
more about the property, could you?--without a regular survey?" said
Anderson, with a laugh.

"You trust me with three or four thousand dollars," said McEwen
doggedly--"because I'm your father and I give you my word. And if not,
you can let it alone. I don't want any prying into my affairs."

Anderson was silent a moment.

Then he raised his eyes.

"Are you sure it's all square?" The tone had sharpened.

"Square? Of course it is. What are yo