The crowd that waited in front of the new hotel for the arrival of the stage, the evening James Greenfield came to Kingston, was unusually large. The King's Basin Messenger had announced the coming of the promoter and president of The King's Basin Land and Irrigation Company and the pioneers had assembled to see the famous capitalist whose power in the money world was making possible the reclamation of the desert.
Mr. Greenfield's greeting in the lobby, under the perspiring efforts of Horace P. Blanton, soon assumed the proportions of a public reception. With his Manager to introduce the prominent citizens, and Horace P., who was never farther than a yard from the capitalist's elbow to assist in receiving them, the man from New York entered graciously into the spirit of the occasion. And when the man in the white vest, intoxicated by the atmosphere of greatness, burst forth in a speech of welcome, setting forth the wonders of The King's Basin, the marvelous growth and future of Kingston, the greatness of Greenfield and—quite incidentally—the greatness of Horace P, Blanton, all in behalf of the people, the Easterner replied with a few modest remarks, in which he hinted at even greater things to come, promising by subtle suggestion unlimited wealth for all who would invest their money and their lives in The King's Basin project.
Then Mr. Greenfield slipped away with Willard Holmes to his room. The friendship between the engineer's own parents and his benefactor had been lifelong and very close. It was a story, years ago forgotten by the world, of how Grace Winton had chosen one of the two college chums and why the other had never married. In the repeated business failures of his old schoolmate and the consequent loss of his fortune the successful financier had proven himself many times a friend in need, and through the long illness of the man who had been successful in winning the woman they both loved, Greenfield, with his wealth, had been steadfast in his thoughtful care. When baby Willard's mother died soon after the death of his father, she—knowing the heart of the man whose love for her had kept him childless—committed to him her only child, and Greenfield, accepting the trust, had taken the boy into his life and heart as his own son.
After the loss of William Greenfield, his only brother, James Greenfield—whose power in the financial world was steadily increasing—had no one to intimately share his success but young Holmes, and when Willard had finished his school and chosen his profession the older man used the influence of his own position to give the young engineer every advantage.
As the two men faced each other now after the longest separation they had ever known, the Company's president studied his chief engineer with interest.
"Well, Willard, my boy," he said at last; "how do you like it? Say, but you are looking fine. You always were a handsome youngster but you're—you're improving, young man. I'm blessed if you don't look like a work of art done in bronze." He laughed with the pleasure of his own conceit and the other laughed with him.
"Wait until this sun gets a shot at you, Uncle Jim."
"Humph! I suppose you think it will make me into some sort of an hideous old idol. I don't propose to stay long enough to give it a chance," he added grimly, and as he finished a shadow fell over his face and the laughter died out of his voice.
"What's the matter; don't you like the West, Uncle Jim?"
"I hate it, and with good reason. Don't you get too interested out here, Willard. We'll clean up a nice little pile out of this scheme and get back home where we belong. I miss you like the deuce, boy!"