Grant paused. He did not look up, but he heard Ross draw a deep breath. Then there was silence.
"Keep in mind," Grant began again, "that I am not requiring this of you–I am asking it."
"Yes–sir."
The tone gave the father the uncomfortable impression that he was assisting at a surgical operation on his son, but he bent his head a little lower over the pad, and traced figures more carefully as he began abruptly on a seemingly new subject.
"Have I ever told you about my Western partner, Jake Weimer?"
"No, sir."
"Well, I started business in the West without a cent, and it was Weimer who gave me my start. He was running a store in Butte, and took me with him. I have managed to get beyond a start, but Weimer never has. After I came East he lost his share of our earnings, and turned prospector. Ever since he has spent his life trying to squeeze gold out of the mountains. Again and again he has staked out claims, and I’ve grub-staked him to the finish. For twenty-five years this has gone on. So far, none of the properties have amounted to much; still, we hold them; there’s always a chance of a rise in value."
Grant drew straight, heavy lines on the pad as he told the story of his grub-staked partner. He fell easily into the vernacular of the gold-fields.
"Four years ago Weimer went prospecting among the Shoshones in Wyoming over near Yellowstone Park. There he began development work on some deserted claims, a few miles from Miners’ Camp."
Here Grant pulled a letter from his pocket, and consulted it.