Richard Burton drove rapidly to the village. I may state here that the name of the township was Carver. Like most Western villages, it consisted principally of one long, central street, containing buildings of all sizes and descriptions, from a three-story hotel to a one-story office. But there seemed to be a good deal going on all the time—much more than in an Eastern town of the size. Western people are active, progressive, never content to stand still. In the drowsy atmosphere that pervades many an Eastern country town they would stagnate, but there perpetual motion is the rule.

Everybody in Carver knew Richard Burton. Everybody liked him also; he was easy and social with all. I have said everybody, but I must make one exception, and that was the man on whom he now proposed to call.

About midway on the main street was a small one-story building, about twelve feet square. Above the door was a sign:

AARON WOLVERTON,

REAL ESTATE AGENT.

Mr. Wolverton had considerable capital, which he was in the habit of lending on mortgage, always for a large interest, and on substantial security. He was supposed to be rich, but did not live like a rich man. His dwelling lay a little way back from the street; it was small, cramped, and uncomfortable, and his style of living was of the most economical character. He was a bachelor, and the only other members of his family were his sister, Sally Wolverton, who resembled her brother in person and character, and a nephew, Sam, the son of a brother, who came in for a liberal share of ill-treatment from the uncle, on whom he was dependent.

Richard Burton reined up in front of Wolverton's office, and, leaping from his carriage, unceremoniously opened the outer door.

"Good morning, Wolverton," he said, cheerily.

Aaron Wolverton, a meagre and wrinkled man of fifty-five, looked up from his desk, and scanned his visitor's face attentively. He was not sure but Richard Burton, who was a high-spirited man, had come to take him to task for his attack upon Bob a short time before. Whenever he thought of it, he fairly trembled with rage and humiliation, for the boy had conquered him, and he knew it.

Burton's words reassured him.

"I have come to pay interest on the mortgage, Wolverton. I suppose you haven't forgotten that?"

"No."

"Catch you forgetting a thing of that kind. That wouldn't be like you."

"I suppose you don't want to lift the mortgage?"

"No; it is all I can do to pay the interest. The first six months have passed remarkably quick."

"Not to me."

"No, for you are to receive money, I to pay it. It makes all the difference in the world. I suppose you are not in need of the money?"

"No, not at present," answered Wolverton, slowly; "but if I had it I could get higher interest."

"Higher interest! Isn't ten per cent. enough for you?"

"Nothing is enough, as long as I can get more."

"Come, Wolverton, don't be such a money-grabber. You must be rolling in money."

The old man shrugged his shoulders in deprecation.

"Times are dull, and—I lose money sometimes," he said.

"Not much, if you know it," said Burton, jocosely. "Well, just write a receipt for six months' interest, one hundred and fifty dollars."

Aaron Wolverton took the proffered bills, eyeing them with eager cupidity, and put them in his desk. Then he made out a receipt, and handed it to his visitor.

"You will be paying the mortgage next year?" he said inquiringly.

"I don't know, Wolverton. If the crops are good, I may pay a part. But I am afraid I am not a very good manager. I can't save money like you, and that brings me round to the question: For whom are you piling up all this wealth? Is it for Sam?"

"Sam is a young loafer," said Wolverton, with a frown. "I give him a home and his living, and he is almost too lazy to breathe."

"You were not that way at his age?"

"No. I worked early and late. I was a poor boy. All that I have, I made by hard work."

"Take my advice, Wolverton, and get the worth of it while you live. But perhaps you are saving with a view to matrimony. Ha, ha!"

And Richard burst into a ringing laugh.

Wolverton puckered up his face, and snarled:

"Why shouldn't I marry if I choose? What is there to laugh at?"

"No reason at all. I advise you to marry. You ought to, for I have found happiness in marrying one of the sweetest women in the world."

Then without any apparent reason, remembering that the man before him had aspired to the hand of his wife, he burst into another laugh, which he kept up till the tears ran from his eyes. He didn't notice the evil expression which it called up in the face of the moneylender.

"I'd like to kill him where he stands," thought Aaron Wolverton. "She must have told him about me. Curse him! he stole her from me, and now he dares to laugh in my face!"

But Wolverton was not a man to indulge even his evil temper when it was impolitic to do so. He forced himself to look indifferent, and merely said:

"Let them laugh that win, Mr. Burton. Perhaps my time may come some day."

"Perhaps it may, Wolverton. I heartily hope that you may find some one to make your life happy. I am happy myself, and I like to see others happy."

There was a little more conversation, and then Richard Burton went out.

"Good-bye, Wolverton. Come to my ranch some time. I'll give you a seat at supper, and we will smoke a cigar afterwards."

The colt—for it was scarcely more than that—was getting restless. It was pawing the ground and evidently anxious to get away.

"Your horse has a bad temper, Mr. Burton," said Wolverton.

"Yes, he needs taming. He's not well trained yet."

"There's something more than that," Wolverton said to himself, thoughtfully. "Horses are like men—they often have nasty tempers. I wouldn't ride behind that brute for—for the money Burton has just paid me. Some day he'll get upset, or thrown. And if he does," he continued, after a pause, "why should I lament? He has taken from me the only woman I ever loved. She might have made a different man of me—perhaps."

Just then a boy came up the street. He stopped and eyed Aaron Wolverton with a little misgiving.

"Sam," said Wolverton, sharply, "what kept you so long? Do you want the strap again?"

"Indeed, uncle, I hurried as fast as I could. Mr. Jenks kept me waiting."

"That is probably a lie," growled Wolverton. "However, since you are here, go into your dinner. It is cold by this time, most likely."

It was cold and uninviting, but Sam could not afford to be dainty, and ate what was set before him by his aunt.