It was evening when Philip took the cars at the Ilium station.

The news of, his success had preceded him, and while he waited for the train, he was the center of a group of eager questioners, who asked him a hundred things about the mine, and magnified his good fortune.

There was no mistake this time.
Philip, in luck, had become suddenly a person of consideration, whose speech was freighted with meaning, whose looks were all significant.
The words of the proprietor of a rich coal mine have a golden sound, and his common sayings are repeated as if they were solid wisdom.
Philip wished to be alone; his good fortune at this moment seemed an empty mockery, one of those sarcasms of fate, such as that which spreads a dainty banquet for the man who has no appetite.

He had longed for success principally for Ruth's sake; and perhaps now, at this very moment of his triumph, she was dying.
"Shust what I said, Mister Sederling," the landlord of the Ilium hotel kept repeating.

"I dold Jake Schmidt he find him dere shust so sure as noting." "You ought to have taken a share, Mr.