“But that whole blessed country is prospected already. There’s no money in it for me.”
“That’s precisely what there is in it.”
Trenn looked about the room, impatient to be gone. What did his father know about money? Less than many a sharp boy of twelve.
“Sound mining knowledge,” he was saying, “will be very useful. Not only for itself, but because it will bring you into business contact with mining men.”
“What good’ll that do me?” demanded the boy, impatiently. “We haven’t got any capital.”
“No, they’ll have the capital. You’ll have something more rare.”
“What?”
“A great property to develop.” Then he told his son the story of the shipwreck, and of those wonderful hours on the farther side of Anvil Rock. Trenn sat and stared. Mar wished he would stop it. It got on his nerves at last, those round, brown eyes, keen, a little hard, fixed in that wide, unwinking gaze.
“So that’s why I say let the cattle business go. Take the small salary that Wilks & Simpson offer, study practical mining, and wait for your chance. In any case, by the time Harry’s left the High School you’ll have some valuable experience to bring into the partnership.”