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Updated: June 29, 2025
It is a quality which stands those who have it in good stead when failure stares them in the face. It did not take Bruce long to discover that in whatever else Sprudell had prevaricated he at least had told the truth when he said that the Naudain family had disappeared. They might never have existed, for all the trace he could find of them in the city of a million.
This ambition to shine as a man of learning was the natural outcome of his disproportionate vanity, his abnormal egotism, his craving for prominence and power. Sprudell was a man who had had meager youthful advantages, but through life he had observed the tremendous impression which scholarly attainments made upon the superficially educated which they made upon him.
"You're letting in a lot of cold air. Quit rampin' round!" From which it may be gathered that Mr. Sprudell, for purposes of warmth and protection, was sleeping with the Chinese cook. "Three in a bed is crowded," Uncle Bill admitted, with a grin. "To-night you might try settin' up." A head of tousled white hair appeared above the edge of the blankets, then a pair of gleaming eyes.
Psychologically, it was curious no doubt there were women in the world who had, or did, or might, adore Sprudell; but for herself she understood clearly now that the single kindly feeling she had for him was the gratitude she felt she owed him. "I congratulate you," she said finally. "It is a remarkable story most romantic! Money is power there never was anything truer Listen!"
"There's no sense in us all staying here to starve," said Sprudell defiantly, as though he had been accused. "I'm going to Ore City before I get too weak to start." "I won't stop you if you're set on goin'; but, as I told you once, you'll be lost in fifteen yards. There's just one chance I see, Sprudell, and I'll take it if you'll say you'll stay with Toy.
"It's all the same." Yet he felt a little surprise. "But the letter from 'Slim's' sister, and the picture I want them, too." "I'm sorry," Sprudell frowned in perplexity, "but they've been mislaid. I can't think where I put them, to save my soul." "How could you misplace them?" Bruce demanded sharply. "You kept them all together, didn't you? I wanted that picture."
Already there was a hazy purpose in his head which, if it crystallized, would prove a most satisfactory way. Sprudell sat down again and wrote until the prospectus of the Bitter Root Placer Mining Company was ready for the printer.
His egotism loomed colossal, he was oblivious to everything and everybody but himself, else he could not have failed to see the growing coldness in her eyes. Helen herself had little appetite, so while Sprudell partook of the numerous dishes with relish she inspected him anew from the critical viewpoint of the woman who intends to marry without love.
Outside, the storm was roaring with unabated fury, and Uncle Bill's emergency supply of wood was almost gone. He crept from under the blankets and boiled some water, making a few tasteless pancakes with a teacupful of flour. Sprudell sat up suddenly and said, with savage energy: "Look here I'll give you a thousand dollars to get me out of this!" Uncle Bill looked at him curiously.
Sprudell's answer was a malignant look from one to the other. "On the square," said Bruce ruefully when the last turn of the revolving door had shut Sprudell into the street, "I hadn't an idea of stirring up anything like this when I spoke to you." "It doesn't matter," Helen answered coldly. "It will disabuse his mind of the notion that he has any claim on me."
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