He got up softly and approached the door of the room into which Ketchim had taken his caller. In a few minutes he returned to his chair. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “I could see Ketchim through the keyhole, on his knees by the bed, praying with that fellow! Now what the d––!”
Reed held up a warning finger. Through the silence that 47 fell upon them snatches of the prayer being offered in the adjoining room floated to their ears––“O, blessed Saviour, vouchsafe prosperity to our venture, we beseech thee! The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof––we ask thy blessing on these efforts of ours to wrest from the ground the wealth which the Father of lights has deposited there for the benefit of His children––”
Harris snickered aloud. “What’s the game?” he whispered.
Reed shook his head in warning. “It may not be a game,” he replied. “But if it is, it’s an old one, hiding behind the mask of religion. But I’m inclined to believe the man sincere.”
“And I’m not!” retorted Harris. “I’d rather deal with his brother. I know James to be an out-and-out rascal––he openly flies the black flag. But this pious fellow––well, he’s got me guessing!”
The caller soon departed, and Ketchim again joined the young men. “He’s our assistant pastor,” he said musingly, as he watched the man go down the walk. “Nice young fellow, waiting for a church. He and some of his friends are interested in a zinc mine we’ve been floating, down in the Joplin district.”
“Got titles?” queried the cynical Harris, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, yes,” Ketchim smiled affably.
“Mine producing?”
“Well, no––not yet. Lots of development work to be done, you know. Always is. And there’s a lot of water in this mine.”