And Clarence quickly told him how rich his mines had turned out, and how he had already sold six hundred thousand dollars' worth of ore, and had an offer of one million dollars for the mines, but the Haverly brothers advised him not to sell. That he thought of putting up crushing mills in the spring.
Mr. Mechlin went into his wife's room without knocking—an omission indicative of great pre-occupation of mind—and his words proved that to be the case.
“But that young fellow is splendid, wife.”
“What young fellow?”
“That young Darrell, from California.”
“Ah! where did you see him?”
“Down stairs. He is talking with George in the library, and I asked him to take dinner with us.”
“He might be splendid—but never superior to Bob Gunther—never!” said Mrs. Mechlin, with firmness.
“Perhaps not superior, mentally or morally, but he is certainly much handsomer.”
“Handsomer than Bob? The idea!”