Barker could scarcely lift the pan!
“Four thousand dollars' weight if a penny!” said Stacy, in short staccato sentences. “In a pocket! Brought it out the second stroke of the pick! We'd been awfully blue after you left. Awfully blue, too, when that bill of sale came, for we thought you'd been wasting your money on US. Reckoned we oughtn't to take it, but send it straight back to you. Messenger gone! Then Demorest reckoned as it was done it couldn't be undone, and we ought to make just one 'prospect' on the claim, and strike a single stroke for you. And there it is. And there's more on the hillside.”
“But it isn't MINE! It isn't YOURS! It's Carter's. I never had the money to pay for it—and I haven't got it now.”
“But you gave the note—and it is not due for thirty days.”
A recollection flashed upon Barker. “Yes,” he said with thoughtful simplicity, “that's what Kitty said.”
“Oh, Kitty said so,” said both partners, gravely.
“Yes,” stammered Barker, turning away with a heightened color, “and, as I didn't stay there to luncheon, I think I'd better be getting it ready.” He picked up the coffeepot and turned to the hearth as his two partners stepped beyond the door.
“Wasn't it exactly like him?” said Demorest.
“Him all over,” said Stacy.
“And his worry over that note?” said Demorest.