“Well, mamma’s boy played a lone hand and found that ledge of gold ore. For it is gold I know. I had some specimens assayed.”
“So did we,” confessed Ruth, eagerly.
He scowled again. “You girls—movie actresses, college girls, or whoever you are—are likely to queer this whole business for me. Say!” he added, “that one in the overalls isn’t an Ardmore freshman, is she?”
“Hardly,” laughed Ruth. “But she needs a gold mine a good deal more than the rest of us do.”
CHAPTER XXIII—MORE OF IT
Royal Phelps continued very grave and silent for a few moments after Ruth’s last statement. Then he groaned.
“Well, it can’t be helped! None of you can want that ledge of gold more than I do. That I know. But, of course, your claims are perfectly legitimate. It is a fact the men Edith will bring out with her are under contract. I sent her to a lawyer in Kingman who understands such things. An agreement with the men covers all the claims they may stake out on this certain ledge—dimensions in contract, and all that. I wanted to start the work, make a showing with reports of assayers and all, then send it to a friend of mine in New York who graduated from college last year and went into his father’s brokerage shop, and he would put shares in my mine on the market. With the money, I hoped to develop and—Well! what’s the use of talking about it? We’ll get our little slice and that is all, if you girls and the other folks that have staked claims hang on to your ownings.”
“Tell me how you came to get Edith into it?” asked Ruth without commenting upon his statement.
“Why, she’s a good old sport, Edie is,” declared the brother warmly. “She stood up to the pater for me. She can do most anything with him. But I’ve got to do something before he lets down the bars to me, even for her sake.
“We kept in correspondence, Edie and I, all through the winter. When I found this gold I wrote her hotfoot. I did not dare file my claim. It would cause comment and perhaps start a rush this way.”