Pete shrugged his shoulders.  “Stanley will always be feelin’ that I softied it up to you.  And he’s a stiff-necked one—­Stan!”

McClintock laughed with a relish.

“For all ye are sic a fine young man, Mr. Johnson, I’m doubtin’ ye’re no deeplomat.  And Stan will be knowin’ that same.  Here is what ye shall do:  you shall go to him and say that you saw an old man sitting by his leelane, handfast to the chimney neuk; and that you are thinking I will be needin’ a friendly face, and that you think ill of him for that same stiff neck of his.  Ye will be having him come to seek and not to gie; folk aye like better to be forgiven than to forgive; I do, mysel’.  That is what you shall do for me.”

“And I did not come to coax money from you to develop the mine with, either,” said Pete.  “If the play hadn’t come just this way, with the jail and all, you would have seen neither hide nor hair of me.”

“I am thinkin’ that you are one who has had his own way of it overmuch,” said McClintock.  His little red eyes shot sparks beneath the beetling brows; he had long since discovered that he had the power to badger Mr. Johnson; and divined that, as a usual thing, Johnson was a man not easily ruffled.  The old man enjoyed the situation mightily and made the most of it.  “When ye are come to your growth, you will be more patient of sma’ crossings.  Here is no case for argle-bargle.  You have taken yon twa brisk lads into composition with you”—­he nodded toward the brisk lads—­“the compact being that they were to provide fodder for yonder mine-beastie, so far as in them lies, and, when they should grow short of siller, to seek more for you.  Weel, they need seek no farther, then.  I have told them that I will be their backer at need; I made the deal wi’ them direct and ye have nowt to do with it.  You are ill to please, young man!  You come here with a very singular story, and nowt to back it but a glib tongue and your smooth, innocent-like young face—­and you go back hame with a heaped gowpen of gold, and mair in the kist ahint of that.  I think ye do very weel for yoursel’.”

“Don’t mind him, Mr. Johnson,” said Mary Selden.  “He is only teasing you.”

Old McClintock covered her hand with his own and continued:  “Listen to her now!  Was ne’er a lassie yet could bear to think ill of a bonny face!” He drew down his brows at Pete, who writhed visibly.

Ferdie Sedgwick rose and presented a slip of pasteboard to McClintock, with a bow.

“I have to-day heard with astonishment—­ahem!—­and with indignation, a great many unseemly and disrespectful remarks concerning money, and more particularly concerning money that runs to millions,” he said, opposing a grave and wooden countenance to the battery of eyes.  “Allow me to present you my card, Mr. McClintock, and to assure you that I harbor no such sentiments.  I can always be reached at the address given; and I beg you to remember, sir, that I shall be most happy to serve you in the event that—­”