There was a big man in the parlor, a hearty-looking man, manifestly of the metropolis, patently of the “good sport” type. He was walking up and down. With his tweed knickerbockers, his belted jacket, his diamonds in his scarf and on his fingers, he was such an odd figure in the homely surroundings that he produced on Vaniman a surprise effect. The young man surveyed the stranger with the interest one might take in a queer animal in a circus van; the big man's restless pacing suggested a caged creature. But he took not the least interest in Vaniman, an unkempt individual without a coat.

“Hexter, what did happen, anyway? I thought you were never coming back. I had a good mind to chase you up, though it would be poor judgment for me to show myself to-night.”

“This has happened!” The Squire pointed to Vaniman. The big man cocked an inquiring eyebrow, looking at the Squire's exhibit with indifference. “Colonel, this is Frank Vaniman. You know all about the case!”

The stranger stepped back so hastily that he knocked over a chair.

“Know about the case!” he bawled. “No, I don't know about it, either, if this is the man the mountain fell on—or whatever it was that happened. What kind of con is this you're giving me, Hexter?”

“This is the man, sir. What I mean by saying you know about the case is that you have agreed with me that an innocent man was railroaded into prison, after I gave you the facts. He is out through a trick worked by a prison guard. He'll give us the details later. Just now it's more important for you to be told that Tasper Britt, by his own acts, has confessed that he robbed the Egypt Trust Company.”

“Well, I'll be damnationed!” blurted the big man, with such whole-souled astonishment that the mode of expression was pardonable. “And I thought that plenty and enough was happening in this town for one night!”

“Frank, this is Colonel Norman Wincott. He has well understood your case from what I have told him. Now he will understand better. Colonel, won't you allow Frank's story to wait? He is in a dreadfully nervous state, poor chap. And I'm afraid he'll go crazy on our hands if he isn't enlightened right away about what is going on here to-night.”

Colonel Wincott strode across the room and slapped Vaniman cordially on the shoulder with one hand and pumphandled with the other. “Plenty of men have escaped from state prison. There's a special novelty about a story of that sort. But let me tell you that I'm the only man in the world who has ever put over a proposition such as this one that is on the docket right here and now. I don't blame you for being interested.” It was plain that the colonel entertained no mean opinion of himself and his projects. “All is, Vaniman, I hope your making a two-ring affair of it hasn't taken the attention of the folks off the main show.”

“It has only added to the general effect,” affirmed the Squire. “It's a clincher. Folks don't care now because Tasper Britt is awake. He has got plenty of business of his own to attend to without calling in sheriffs to slap on attachments.”

“Very good! The easier the better,” returned Colonel Wincott. “But when I hired you to look after the law part, Hexter, I reckoned you could counter every crack he made. Sit down, Vaniman!” He picked up the chair he had overturned and took it for himself. “You have seen the parade, some of it?”

“I saw a great deal of it, sir.”

“And you don't know where it's headed for?”

“No.”

The colonel leaned back and regarded the Squire with the satisfied contentment of a cat who had tucked away the last morsel of the canary. Then he winked at Vaniman. “Young man, did you ever hear of Wincott's Pure Rye?”

“No, sir.”

“Glad of it! Hope you never were familiar with any other brands. However, enough men did know about it in those dear, damp days beyond recall to make me independent of the pawnshop, to say the least. And, having cleaned up a good pot with whisky running down men's gullets, I reckoned I'd see what I could do with water running downhill. Do you get me at all so far?”

“No, sir.”

“Didn't suppose you would. I'm only shuffling the deck. Now for the deal! Awhile ago I came up into this state from the South and I bought the unorganized township that bounds this town on the north. It had gone begging for a buyer because it's mostly pond and water power. But it's what I wanted. And, having bought it, I used my check book and got some good lobbyists on the job and I got a conditional charter from the legislature. That is to say, it becomes a town charter automatically the moment I can report a certain number of inhabitants—not mere men, but families, regularly settled. Do you see?”

“I surely do begin to see, Colonel Wincott.”

“Vaniman, if I had gone to the cities and advertised for settlers, what kind would I have got? Probably only a bunch of aliens dissatisfied already; if they weren't sore on general conditions I couldn't coax 'em to move. And aliens are always moving. I wanted some of the old breed of Yankee pioneers. That's what my folks were, 'way back. I took a sly peek into the town of Egypt. Good folks, but no opportunities here. Everything gone to seed. Up in my township a new deal with a fresh deck! Plenty of timber, plenty of rich land—and mills going up. Confound it! I propose to be boss of a real town—not a wild land plantation!”

He suddenly shifted his posture. He came forward in his chair and set his elbows on his knees. “Say, Vaniman, I got Hexter's opinion a few days ago when I opened up to him and hired him to attend to the law. But I want to ask you now what you think of my real-estate agent?”

The young man shifted his bewildered gaze from the colonel's jovial and inquiring visage to the Squire's equally cheerful countenance.

“Known to Pharaoh and the modern Children of Israel as the Prophet Elias, Frank,” explained the notary. “I have heartily indorsed his good work. Furthermore, he knows well how to keep a secret and how to train others to keep one. Tasper Britt went to bed this night without one inkling of what was about to happen. He did not know that he was to be left here without men to toil and pay him his twelve per cent. He has town debts. He has the bare acres he has foreclosed on—he has the tumble-down houses. He has the paupers on the poor farm. He—”

“Hold on, Squire! I forgot about those paupers,” broke in the colonel. “I want a town that's fully rounded out. A few paupers belong in a town so that they may serve to remind others folks that they must keep busy and avoid the poor farm. And even the paupers will wake up and go to work in my town! Work will be in the air. I'm going to send a wagon after those paupers. Britt is no sort of a man to be allowed pets; he'll let 'em starve.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed the Squire. “I'll say, further, Frank, that when the Prophet started off last evening, blowing his trump to sound the signal for the migration, Britt stood and saw him go—and never guessed what it meant.”

“I heard that horn—I wondered.”

“He's a good blower,” stated Colonel Wincott. “He blew all the props out from under the man Britt. Solidly grounded on texts, Elias is! Vaniman, a brand-new scheme needs a resourceful operator.” He patted the top of his head. “Pardon me for flattering myself. I invented the system and the Prophet played it.”

Then Colonel Wincott leaned back, stuck his thumbs into the armholes of his vest, and rocked on the hind legs of the chair. “I played a hunch,” he went on. “I was going through Scollay Square in Boston one evening and I heard a street evangelist holding forth. He was preaching on the subject, 'Bondage.' Sin he called Pharaoh. And he was hammering the hearers with texts from Exodus. The idea hit me. I hung up beside the curb till he was through preaching, then I invited him to take a ride with me in my car. And a wise old bird I found him to be! No hypocrite! Doing his best to help his fellow-men, but always hep! Never out of a city till I pulled him up here. Likes the country now. Going to be the regular preacher in my new town. No more robe-and-umbrella business, of course. That was my idea. I'm inclined to be a little circusy in my notions. He stood for it. The scheme helped him to put over what he couldn't have got away with by ordinary means.”

Vaniman remembered those flashes of worldly wisdom in the Prophet, and was enlightened. His countenance revealed his thoughts.

“Had you guessing?” demanded the colonel. “Nothing like starting folks to guessing. Keeps up the interest. One by one Elias snipped the cords that bound the folks to the soil of this place. Did a fine job. They're going to thrive after they are transplanted. Even Squire Hexter is going to bring up the rear guard, after he has finished here with the loose ends of the law needed in the case.”

“It's to be a clean sweep, Frank,” the Squire affirmed. “Even Usial and his press; the new town will be in his legislative class.” Then he looked long at Colonel Wincott, who was rocking on the legs of his chair.

“I know mighty well what you want to say to me, Squire Hexter,” stated the object of the regard. “You don't need to say a word, though. I'll do the saying. Vaniman, you have had a raw deal. But you'll soon be through the woods. I'm going to have a bank in my new town. You're going to be the boss of it.”

“Just a moment before you say anything, Frank,” expostulated the Squire when Vaniman, choking with doubts and gratitude both, attempted to speak. “I propose to start at once for the shire town. I'll begin with the county attorney. I'll have your name cleared inside of twenty-four hours.”

“And don't bother with any Dobbins for that job,” declared the colonel. “Use my car. My chauffeur is hiding it in the bush a little ways from here. And now, Vaniman, give me all your attention,” he went on, with the pride of a successful performer. “I'll tell you what's going to happen over across the line in my town. It's going to interest you. You have been a man of affairs and you can grasp what I'm saying.”

But Vaniman did not seem to be grasping even that introduction of the subject. He had heard hurrying footsteps outside the house.

“You'll never listen to anything that will stir your blood like what I'm going to tell you of my plans for the future,” insisted the colonel.

But a tremulous voice called: “Frank! Frank!”

Vaniman leaped from his chair and turned his back on the man who proposed to stir the blood of the listener.

Squire Hexter hurried to Colonel Wincott and whispered information which caused the master of The Promised Land to elevate his eyebrows understandingly.

“Great Caesar! Why, sure!” he blurted, and popped up out of his chair.

Following the Squire, he tiptoed to the door and stood on one side when the notary opened and peeped out.

“Vona!” called the Squire, gently. “The boy is in here. Come!”

She ran past them into the room.

Colonel Wincott ducked out and the Squire followed and closed the door. He closed it slowly, softly, reverently, and then turned a smiling face of compassionate understanding toward Xoa and the colonel.