“Look here,” he began, after a while. “I’m not the sort of man who tries to wriggle out of things, when he’s done them, am I? Heaven knows—I’ve been in scrapes enough! But you never knew me to deny it, nor to try and make out that I was steady when I wasn’t. Did you, Frank?”
“No,” answered Miner, thoughtfully. “I never did. That’s a fact. It’s quite true.”
The threefold assent seemed to satisfy Ralston.
“All right,” he said. “Now I want you to listen to me, because this is rather an extraordinary tale. I’ll tell it all, as nearly as I can, but there are one or two gaps, and there’s a matter connected with it about which I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Go ahead,” answered Miner. “I’ve got some perfectly new faith out—and I’m just waiting for you. Produce the mountain, and I’ll take its measure and remove it at a valuation.”
Ralston laughed a little and then began to tell his story. It was, of course, easy for him to omit all mention of Katharine, and he spoke of his interview with Robert Lauderdale as having taken place in connection with an idea he had of trying to get something to do in the West, which was quite true. He omitted also to mention the old gentleman’s amazing manifestation of eccentricity—or folly—in writing the cheque which John had destroyed. For the rest, he gave Miner every detail as well as he could remember it. Miner listened thoughtfully and never interrupted him once.
“This isn’t a joke, is it, Jack?” he asked, when John had finished with a description of Doctor Routh’s midnight visit.
“No,” answered Ralston, emphatically. “It’s the truth. I should be glad if you would tell any one who cares to know.”