"No, indeed," laughed the miller. "Not in such close quarters as this. When I throw a bomb at anybody I shall take care to provide a safety net for myself."
"Ha!" ejaculated the Colonel, with a deep sigh of relief. "Book-agent?"
"Nothing in it," said the miller. "Work too heavy for the profits. No, sir, I am neither a book-agent nor an anarchist. I am nothing but a poor miller with an ingrowing income, but I have a beautiful daughter who—"
"Oh yes," interrupted Midas, with a nod. "I remember now. I've heard of you. You preferred to remain independent instead of selling out to the Trust. You tried to discount some of your notes at the Pactolean Trust Company, of which I am president, the other day."
"Yes," said the miller, "and you refused them."
"Naturally," laughed Midas. "A beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller, is a lovely possession, but she's mighty poor security for a loan. About the worst in the market. Especially yours. I've seen Miss Miller at the opera several times and have wondered how you managed it. It would cost more than the face value of your notes to support the security for one week in the style to which she is accustomed."
"That's true enough," said the miller, "and nobody knows it better than I do. Nevertheless, you made a mistake. You have possibly never heard of her wonderful gift."
"No," said the magnate. "I was not aware that the young lady had any other gifts than beauty and a father with a little credit left."
"Well, be that as it may," retorted the miller, "she has one great gift. She can spin straw into gold."
"What?" cried Midas, becoming interested at once.