After that, things dragged along and then--I telephoned down again.
"'What's the quotation on silver ?' I asked him." "'Hell,' says Old Man Saxby, 'there ain't any quotation! Close 'er up--close up everything.

They 've passed the demonetization bill, the president 's going to sign it, and you ain't got a job.' "And young feller--" Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses again, "that was some real disappointment.

And it's a lot worse than you 're liable to get in a minute." He turned to the furnace and took out the pottery dish in which the sample had been smelting, white-hot now.

He cooled it and tinkered with his chemicals.

He fussed with his scales, he adjusted his glasses, he coughed once or twice in an embarrassed manner; finally to turn to Fairchild.
"Young man," he queried, "it ain't any of my business, but where 'd you get this ore ?" "Out of my mine, the Blue Poppy!" "Sure you ain't been visiting ?" "What do you mean ?" Fairchild was staring at him in wonderment.
Old Undertaker Chastine rubbed his hands on his big apron and continued to look over his glasses.
"What 'll you take for the Blue Poppy mine, Son ?" "Why--it's not for sale." "Sure it ain't going to be--soon ?" "Absolutely not." Then Fairchild caught the queer look in the man's eyes.