“You are still selling stock, aren’t you?” demanded Reed.
“Oh, no!” quickly returned Ketchim. “We would not sell any more stock until we received your report––and not then, unless the report were favorable. That would not have been right!”
Reed eyed him narrowly. But the image of truth sat enthroned upon Ketchim’s sharp features.
“It is unfortunate, boys,” the promoter continued dejectedly. “But I care nothing for my own losses; it’s the poor stockholders I am thinking about. I would do anything to relieve them. I’ve prayed to be led to do right. What would you suggest?”
“I suggest,” blurted out Harris, “that, having already relieved them considerably, you’ll soon be wearing a striped suit!”
The last trace of color faded from Ketchim’s face, but the sickly smile remained. “I’d wear it, willingly, if by so doing I could help these poor people,” he mournfully replied.
“Well,” pursued Harris, “it’ll help some when they learn that you’re in one.”
“Boys,” said Ketchim suddenly, quite disregarding the insinuation, “to-morrow is Sunday, and I want you both out to dinner with me, and we will talk this all over. Then in the afternoon I want you to come over and see my little Sunday school. Fellows,” he continued gravely, “I’ve prayed for you and for your success every day since you left. And my faith in my Saviour is too great to be shattered now by your adverse report. He certainly will show us a way out; and I can trust him and wait.”
Reed and Harris looked at him and then at each other with 37 puzzled expressions on their faces. The man continued earnestly:
“Colombia is a rich and undeveloped country, you have said. There must be other mineral properties available there. Did you see none on your travels? Or could we not organize an exploration party to search for mines?”