Walter Winter was among the most genial.
"Young man," he said, "what did I tell you?
Didn't I tell you you ought to take this case ?" Mr Winter, with his chest thrust out, plumed and strutted in justifiable pride of prophecy.

"Now, I'll tell you another thing: today's event will do more for you than it has for Ormiston.

Mark my words!" They were all of that opinion, all the fine foretellers of the profit Lorne should draw from his spirited and conspicuous success; they stood about in knots discussing it; to some extent it eclipsed the main interest and issue of the day, at that moment driving out, free and disconsolate, between the snake fences of the South Riding to Moneida Reservation.

The quick and friendly sense of opportunity was abroad on Lorne Murchison's behalf; friends and neighbours and Dr Drummond, and people who hardly knew the fellow, exchanged wise words about what his chance would do for him.

What it would immediately do was present to nobody so clearly, however, as to Mr Henry Cruickshank, who decided that he would, after all, accept Dr Drummond's invitation to spend the night with him, and find out the little he didn't know already about this young man.
That evening the Murchisons' doorbell rang twice.