ge
on the advertisements thereon; printed dodgers of sub-divisions and
ranching first mortgage propositions issued by the Company every few
days; and copies of the _Vernock and District Advertiser_ containing
the Langford-Ralston Company's regular full-page advertisement.

"Why don't you write to him?" asked Phil one day.

Jim laughed.

"Because I know him!" he answered. "If I wrote to him, he'd smell a
rat. But the constant drip will have its effect, laddie. His firm has
money by the train-load to lend out on good security,--but the
security has got to be good. It won't be long before he is making
inquiries through some of the banks. Why, man!--I know that Fraser &
Somerville placed a quarter of a million dollars for him on first
mortgages a year or so ago. Why shouldn't we have it?"

In response to Phil's peculiar look, Jim went on.

"Oh, ay!--you may glower. I know I've been a rotter, and I don't think
I deserve any confidences from my old dad. I never played the game
with him. All the same, I'm not going to crawl to him for all the
money on earth. I've come to myself at last and I mean to show him I
am still worthy to be called his son,--as the Good Book says. If he is
interested in our legitimate business and cares to get in touch in a
business-like way, we'll be mighty glad to show him what we've got and
accept his fatted calf, or should I say, golden calf, with becoming
dignity."

"Well, Jim,--you're lucky," reflected Phil. "I doubt if my father
knows now that I am alive. He was a mighty good dad to me, but he
doesn't seem to have allowed much for youthful impetuosity and
indiscretion. Evidently, he has never forgiven me for refusing to
accept a new mother on a moment's notice. You may say what you like
about Brenchfield, but if it hadn't been for the kindness of his
father and mother, God only knows what and where I would have been
to-day."

"Yes, Sentimental Tommy! And you paid all of it back, a thousand per
cent,--so forget that part! A fat lot Graham Brenchfield did for you,
personally."

"Oh, yes!--but still----"

"Oh, you make me tired with your excuses for that coyote;--forget
it! But, if your dad was so good to you when you were a kiddie, for
the life of me I'm darned if I can understand where his paternal
instinct has got to. If I had a laddie,--God save me for indulging
in such a fantasy!--but, if I did have, I'd go after him if he were
in hell itself. Think o' it, Phil! Your own flesh and