"What?" roared Midas. "A thousand dollars' worth of gold from a seven-dollar bub—bale of straw?"
"That's the assay office estimate," said the miller, with a smile. "You can't very well go behind that."
The answer was a long, low whistle, and within twenty minutes the great financier's car came chugging up to the door, and he entered the house, bringing with him a chemist.
"THIS IS THE GREATEST CINCH IN THE HISTORY OF FINANCE"
"By Jingo! Miller," he cried, after the chemist had applied every known test to the bar and declared it to be, beyond all question, the real stuff, "by Jingo, old man, our fortune is made. This is the greatest cinch in the history of finance."
"Looks that way," said the miller, calmly, leaning forward and tossing the steerage ticket into the waste-basket.
"We—er—we must keep it in the family, Miller," the Colonel added, slapping the proud father familiarly on the knee—for Gasmerilda had remembered the fairy godmother's injunction as to the use of her eyes.
"I intend to, Colonel," said the miller, dryly. "I'll keep it in my family if you don't mind—"