bring fortunes to others, it
might as well be to my own kind--that at least I'd offer them the
chance before I offered it to any one else." He turned and looked
Richard in the face. "That's why I'm here, Mr. Lindley."

The other impulsively put out his hand. "I understand," he said
heartily.

"Thank you." Corliss changed his tone for one less serious.
"You've listened very patiently and I hope you'll be rewarded for
it. Certainly you will if you decide to come in with us. May I
leave the maps and descriptions with you?"

"Yes, indeed. I'll look them over carefully and have another talk
with you about it."

"Thank heaven, _that's_ over!" exclaimed the lounger in the
hammock, who had not once removed his fascinated stare from the
expressive face of Valentine Corliss. "If you have now concluded
with dull care, allow me to put a vital question: Mr. Corliss, do
you sing?"

The gentleman addressed favoured him with a quizzical glance from
between half-closed lids, and probably checking an impulse to
remark that he happened to know that his questioner sometimes
sang, replied merely, "No."

"It is a pity."

"Why?"

"Nothing," returned the other, inconsequently. "It just struck me
that you ought to sing the Toreador song."

Richard Lindley, placing the notes and maps in his pocket, dropped
them, and, stooping, began to gather the scattered papers with a
very red face. Corliss, however, laughed good-naturedly.

"That's most flattering," he said; "though there are other things
in `Carmen' I prefer--probably because one doesn't hear them so
eternally."

Vilas pulled himself up to a sitting position and began to swing
again. "Observe our host, Mr. Corliss," he commanded gayly. "He is
a kind old Dobbin, much beloved, but cares damn little to hear you
or me speak of music. He'd even rather discuss your oil business
than listen to us talk of women, whereas nothing except women ever
really interests _you_, my dear sir. He's not our kind of man," he
concluded, mournfully; "not at all our kind of man!"

"I hope," Corliss suggested, "he's going to be my kind of man in
the development of these oil-fields."

"How ridic"--Mr. Vilas triumphed over the word after a slight
struggle--"ulous! I shall review that: ridiculous of you to
pretend to be interested in oil-fields. You are not that sort of
person whatever. Nothing could be clearer than that you would
never waste the time demanded by fields of oil. Groundlings call
thi