Philip denied for himself.
“I think we have been merely living from day to day for the past few weeks. I haven’t any plans reaching beyond Denver, at present. And you haven’t, either, have you, Harry?”
Bromley shook his head. “Not the ghost of a plan.”
“Good,” said the promoter; “then we can keep in touch, more or less, during the make-ready. I am back and forth between the mountains and Denver every week or so. Now if you will come around to the bank with me, I’ll deposit those cash advances to your credit and you’ll be footloose to do as you please.”
The bank visited, and arrangements made for the transfer of the better part of their fortune-earnest to a bank in Denver, the two who, a few months before, had been merely marching privates in the eager army of prospectors, shook hands with their lessee and fared forth into the streets of Leadville as men of solid substance.
“Well?” said Bromley, after they had walked in silence for something more than half the distance from the bank to their hotel—which, it is needless to say, was not the second-rate tavern at which they had put up on the occasion of their former visit.
“Say it,” Philip invited.
“I was just wondering where you were ‘at’; whether you were here in the flesh, or a thousand miles away in the spirit.”
“I am trying to get my feet on the ground,” was the sober answer.
“Still seems like a pipe-dream, does it?”