"Well, he went on then to yarn about Macgregor's work--how a church and club house had been built in one place, and a hospital and all that sort of thing, in another, and then he told us stories of the different chaps who had been apparently snatched from the mouth of hell by Macgregor, and were ready to lie down and let him walk over them.It was great.There was an Irishman and a Frenchman, Iremember, both Roman Catholics, but both ready to swallow the Confession of Faith if the Prospector ordered them.Yes, that was another point.Macgregor, it seems, was a regular fiend for hunting up fellows and rooting them out to church, and so they dubbed him 'the Prospector.' The old chief stuck that in, I tell you.Then there was a doctor and, oh, a lot of chaps,--a cowboy fellow named Ike, who was particularly good copy if one could reproduce him.And then--" here Tommy hesitated--"well, it's worth while telling.There was a girl who had gone wrong, and had been brought back.To hear the chief tell that yarn was pretty fine.I don't turn the waterworks on without considerable pressure, but I tell you my tanks came pretty near overflowing when he talked about that poor girl.
And then, at the most dramatic moment--that old chap knows his business--he brought on Macgregor, announcing him as 'the Prospector of Frog Lake, no, Loon Lake.' Well, he was not much to look at.His hair was not slick, and his beard looked a little like a paint brush, his pants ran up on his boots, and bagged at the knees.""He had just come off the train," hastily interposed Brown, "He hadn't a moment to dress himself.""Well, as I say, he wasn't pretty to look at, and they gave him a kind of frosty reception, too.""Well, what happened?" inquired Brown, anxious to get over this part of the description.
"Well, they began firing questions at him hot and fast.He was a little rattled for a while, but after a bit he got into his stride, put down his map, laid out his country and began pouring in his facts, till when they let him out they looked for all the world like a lot of men who had been struck by a whirlwind and were trying to get back their breath and other belongings.""Well, what did they do then?"
"Oh, the thing passed, I guess.I left 'em and went after the man from the West.I thought I had struck oil.I had visions too.""Well, did you get him?"
"I did, but there was not any oil.It was rock, hard, cold Scotch granite.I'm something of a borer, but I tell you what, he turned my edge.It was no use.He wouldn't talk.""Good by.Come around and see your man at my rooms," said Brown heartily."I'll pump him for you, and you can catch the oil.""You will, eh? All right, set a mug for me.""Great boy, that Tommy," said Brown, who was smitten with a sudden enthusiastic admiration for the reporter."Clever chap.He'll make his mark yet."Helen walked for some distance in silence."Is--is he--is Mr.
Macgregor with you?" she inquired at length.
"Yes, Mr.Macgregor is with me," mimicked Brown."Will you send him a card?""Now, Brownie, stop," said Helen in distress."He has not been home yet, has he?""No.Why?"
