“The lands you have, I suppose?” said the banker, looking again at Keith quickly.

“Yes, the lands I have, though you don’t believe it,” said Keith, looking him calmly in the eyes.

The banker was gazing at the young man ironically; but, as he observed him, his credulity began to give way.

That stamp of truth which men recognize was written on him unmistakably.  Mr. Creamer’s mind worked quickly.

“By the way, you came from down there.  Did you know a young man named Rhodes?  He was an engineer.  Went over the line.”

Keith’s eyes brightened.  “He is one of my best friends.  He is in Russia now.”

Mr. Creamer nodded.  “What do you think of him?”

“He is one of the best.”

Mr. Creamer nodded.  He did not think it necessary to tell Keith that Rhodes was paying his addresses to his daughter.

“You write to him,” said Keith.  “He will tell you just what I have.  Tell him they are the Rawson lands.”

Keith opened the door.  “Good morning, sir.”

“One moment!” Mr. Creamer leaned back in his chair.  “Whom else do you know here?” he asked after a second.

Keith reflected a moment.

“I know Mr. Wentworth.”

“Norman Wentworth?”

“Yes; I know him very well.  He is an old friend of mine.”

“Have you been to him?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because my relations with him are entirely personal.  We used to be warm friends, and I did not wish to use his friendship for me as a ground on which to approach him in a commercial enterprise.”

Mr. Creamer’s countenance expressed more incredulity than he intended to show.

“He might feel under obligations to do for me what he would not be inclined to do otherwise,” Keith explained.

“Oh, I don’t think you need have any apprehension on that score,” Mr. Creamer said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes.  “It is a matter of business, and I don’t think you will find business men here overstepping the bounds of prudence from motives of sentiment.”

“There is no man whom I would rather have go into it with me; but I shall not ask him to do it, for the reason I have given.  Good morning.”

The banker did not take his eyes from the door until the sound of Keith’s steps had died away through his outer office.  Then he reflected for a moment.  Presently he touched a bell, and a clerk appeared in the door.

“Write a note to Mr. Norman Wentworth and ask him to drop in to see me—­any time this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Norman Wentworth called at Mr. Creamer’s office he found the financier in a good humor.  The market had gone well of late, and Mr. Creamer’s moods were not altogether unlike the mercury.  His greeting was more cordial than usual.  After a brief discussion of recent events, he pushed a card across to his visitor and asked casually: