“Oh, we don't own a foot of it,—don't want to. If Mr. MacFarlane decides to—”
“I'm not talking about MacFarlane's job; I'm talking about your own property,—the Cumberland ore property,—the one your father left you. You haven't sold it, have you?” This came in an anxious tone.
“No,” answered Jack simply, wondering what his father's legacy had to do with his Chief's proposed work.
“Have you paid the taxes?” Arthur's eyes were now boring into his.
“Yes, every year; they were not much. Why do you ask?”
“I'll tell you that later on,” answered his uncle with a more satisfied air. “You were up there with MacFarlane, weren't you?—when he went to look over the ground of the Maryland Mining Company where he is to cut the horizontal shaft?” Jack nodded. “So I heard. Well, it may interest you to learn that some of our Mukton people own the property. It was I who sent MacFarlane up, really, although he may not know it.”
“That was very kind of you, sir,” rejoined Jack, without a trace of either gratitude or surprise.
“Well, I'm glad you think so. Some of our directors also own a block of that new road MacFarlane is finishing. They wouldn't hire anybody else after they had gone up to Corklesville and had seen how he did his work, so I had the secretary of the company write MacFarlane, and that's how it came about.”
Jack nodded and waited; his uncle's drift was not yet apparent.
“Well, what I wanted to see you about, Jack, is this:” here he settled his fat back into the chair. “All the ore in that section of the county,—so our experts say, dips to the east. They've located the vein and they think a horizontal shaft and gravity will get the stuff to tide water much cheaper than a vertical shaft and hoist. Now if the ore should peter out—and the devil himself can't tell always about that—we've got to get some ore somewhere round there to brace up and make good our prospectus, even if it does cost a little more, and that's where your Cumberland property might come in,—see? One of our lawyers looked over a record of your deed in the town hall of Mulford—” here he bent forward and consulted a paper on his desk—“No,—that's not it,—Morfordsburg,—yes, that's it,—Morfordsburg,—looked up the deed, I say, Jack, and from what he says I don't believe your property is more than a quarter of a mile, as the crow flies, from where they want MacFarlane to begin cutting. If the lawyer's right there may be a few dollars in it for you—not much, but something; and if there is,—of course, I don't want to commit myself, and I don't want to encourage you too much—but if he's right I should advise your bringing me what papers you've got and have our attorney look them over, and if everything's O.K. in the title, your property might be turned over to the new company and form part of the deal. You can understand, of course, that we don't want any other deposits in that section but our own.”