“I need a friend,” continued Jerningham. “I know friendship cannot be bought. It grows—but there must be a seed. It may be that after you know me better you will give me your friendship. That is for the future. I also need a man! A man whom I can trust! A man, young Mr. Francis Wolfe,” he said, with a sternness that impressed young Mr. Francis Wolfe, “who will not laugh at me!”
Frank was not an intellectual giant, but neither was he an utter ass. He said, very seriously, “Go on!”
“I am willing to pay such a man twenty-five thousand a year—” He paused and almost frowned.
“Go on!” again said young Mr. Wolfe, looking the Klondiker straight in the eyes.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars—to begin with!”
“Yes?” said young Mr. Wolfe, quite calmly.
“The duties of such a man—and keep in mind I mean a man when I say a man!—entail nothing whatever of a menial or dishonorable character; nothing to which a gentleman could possibly object. But it would necessitate a certain spirit of good-will toward me. I am not only willing, but even anxious, to pay twenty-five thousand dollars a year, and all traveling expenses, to a clean-minded young man who, for all his wild-oat sowing, is a gentleman and will learn to like me enough not to laugh at me when I intrust him with the secret desire of my heart.”
Before Frank's thoughts could crystallize into the definite suspicion that Jerningham wanted to be helped to climb socially, Jemingham went on so coldly that again young Wolfe was impressed:
“You will admit, Mr. Wolfe, that a man who has prospected all over North America from the Rio Grande to the Arctic Circle, and who has, unfortunately, been compelled”—he rose, went to his bureau, brought out two revolvers of a rather old-fashioned kind—“compelled against his will to draw first”—he showed the young man about a dozen notches in the handle of one of them—“one who fears no man and no government and no blackmailer; who owns the richest placer mines in the world—is not apt to be an emotional ass!” There was a pause. But Jemingham continued before young Wolfe could speak: “Neither is he a damned fool—what?”
Mr. Francis Wolfe felt he had to say something, so he said, “I shouldn't think so.”