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Then, "Foster, Foster," he admonished, "be careful. Keep your head. That syndicate is going to worry you some, old man, before you are through." Foster got to his feet. "See here, Hollis, be fair. Look at it once from the other side. The Morgansteins have done more for Alaska than they will ever be given credit for.
Miss Armitage of?" "San Francisco." "Of San Francisco; and visiting the Morgansteins, of course. But going on now alone to meet the friends who are expecting you am I right? at North Yakima." There was a brief silence, and she moved a little in her chair. "Where I am going now," she said, and looked at him once more across the invisible barrier, "is another story." "I beg your pardon."
And here Daniels, detailed to learn something in regard to the Iditarod strike where, it was rumored, the Morgansteins were negotiating for the miner's valuable holdings, finally traced him. "Sure we have a Banks of Alaska with us," the clerk responded, smiling, and turned the page to show the Press representative the strained, left-handed signature.
Then suddenly he started; his grasp tightened on the reins so that the colts sprang to the sharp grade. "Do you happen to know that enchantress, too?" he asked. "Whom?" questioned Miss Armitage. "I mean Mrs. Weatherbee. I believe she counts the Morgansteins among her friends, and you said you were staying at Vivian Court, where her apartments are." "Oh, yes, I know her.
"The fact is," he went on, dropping his voice confidentially, "I've got wind of a customer. He's driving through from the Sound to the races in his machine. A friend of mine wired me. Mebbe you know him. It's one of those Morgansteins of Seattle; the young feller. He saw these bays last year when they took the blue ribbon and said he'd keep an eye on 'em.
Who was this writer Daniels? His mind ran back to that day aboard the Aquila. Aside from the Morgansteins and Mrs. Weatherbee, there had been no one else in the party until the lieutenant was picked up at Bremerton, after the adventure was told. But Daniels he glanced back to be sure of the author's name James Daniels. Now he remembered.
Why, one was signed by his brother-in-law, Miles Feversham, and your draft was on the Seattle National where the Morgansteins bank. But it's all right; I got my price." He nudged Tisdale slyly and, laughing again, moved to the heads of the team. "Now, sir, watch your chance; they're chain lightning the minute you touch the seat." Tisdale was ready.
Tisdale had taken the Milwaukee line over the mountains, intending to finish the trip on horseback, to see the country, and I, you remember, was motoring through Snoqualmie Pass with the Morgansteins. His train barely missed colliding with our car. Mr.
Tisdale laughed too, a deep undernote. "That sounds like Billy Foster. I wager it was Foster. Was it?" he asked. She nodded affirmatively. "Then Foster has met you." Tisdale's voice rang a little. "He knows you, after all." "Yes, he could hardly help knowing me. His business interests are with my closest friends, the Morgansteins; they think a great deal of him.
Jimmie set these figures down, then asked: "Is the rumor true that the Morgansteins are considering an offer from you?" "No, sir," piped the little man. "They made me an offer. I gave 'em an option on my bunch of claims for a hundred and fifty thousand. Their engineer has gone in to look the property over. If they buy, they'll likely send a dredger through by spring and work a big bunch of men."
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