Fraser Confers with Perkins.

The eccentric methods which Cameron had employed since his return to The Front had put the people of Glengarry into a state of excitement and wild speculation, which was greatly interfering with the wonted quiet and decorum of its peaceably inclined citizens. While the House of Cariboo, as it was now generally called, neared completion, and the majestic columns which supported the high arched domes of its rotunda stood out in bold relief against the scaffolding surrounding the unfinished parts, extravagant reports were being circulated abroad in Glengarry, even reaching to the distant city, of the enormous expenditures made by Cameron on the mansion he was about to occupy.

As the undertakings of Cameron assumed form, and the motive for many of his peculiar trades with his neighbors became apparent, another individual of whom we have frequently spoken also began to figure conspicuously before the people of the county.

The purposes of Nick Perkins for the past few months had suffered so many humiliating defeats before his constituents at The Gore and his enemies at The Front, that even his sympathizers and old time henchmen of his town, of late had shunned meeting him as he went about at his home. Every note and mortgage which he held against the farmers and neighbors of the two towns had been paid back to him with interest to date, and in every case the proceeds had come to his debtors through the liberal wages paid by Cameron for work upon the undertakings he had put under way. Thirty thousand dollars had been paid out for various kinds of work done, either directly by Cameron, or through his friends, Blakely, Simpson or Ferguson. Happiness reigned supreme in the families of the two towns, and each neighbor felt that he could look the other full in the face with a frankness which meant freedom from the depressing coils of debt.

Perkins, they said, could no longer impose himself upon them. His money-getting, money-lending and hypocritical pose among the people of the two towns would no longer be tolerated. By Cameron, the man whom he had sought so diligently to enclose in his net, he had been thrown from his pedestal of deceit, and at present he was the object of ridicule throughout the county.

William Fraser, the carpenter, still continued to employ himself in the capacity of the official gossip of Glengarry, but the interested listeners among his neighbors who would bid him welcome had become so few that like his patron, Nick Perkins, he found the vocation which once had placed him in popular demand, was at present in rank disfavor. His neighbors had remarked that even though great activity was apparent in the building trades at The Front, Fraser remained unemployed. Bill Blakely sarcastically queried of him one day, as a number of men of a like occupation from an adjoining town stood about the door to Davy Simpson’s busy forge, “Whether he didn’t think that in balancing on the top rail, speculating on the return of Cameron from the gold fields, he had jumped off upon the wrong side of the fence? Of course,” Bill added with a chuckle as his goatee moved up and down, “you had the hull county with you, for Perkins had jumped the same way before you.”

As near as could be observed, the shrine to which Fraser had come with his troubles, and the confession of the failure of his accomplishments to charm as of yore his susceptible hearers, was the Court of Perkins. Deserted as he knew it to be, nevertheless here we find him come again, but this time a smile, a grin, covered his face, for he had a choice bit of gossip for Perkins—a pretty little ambush arranged by Cameron into which Fraser and Perkins fell without the least suspicion. Perkins bade his caller welcome, and in his usual cringing, insinuating manner, noiselessly sliding in his peculiar gait about the room, he finally sat down on the edge of his chair, tipping it forward.

“Mr. Perkins,” he said, rubbing his hands together in glee, “our time has come. It’s all up with Cameron. Just as you said, Mr. Perkins, just as you always said, a fool from his money is easy to part, and that’s what it’s come to now, and I come right over to tell you, Mr. Perkins, for I knew they would have to come to you yet.”

Meanwhile Perkins drew a chair to the centre of the room and seated himself before his caller. Every movement he made showed the intense interest Fraser had aroused. “Is it something about Cameron’s finances giving out, you have heard, Fraser, or is it something else we both ought to know? We are alone in this, Fraser—alone, you understand.”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Perkins,” eagerly replied the tattling carpenter. “I heard it by a mere chance. Why, they don’t think I know a word about it. You see,” he went on, leaning farther forward toward his eager listener, “I heard that some mouldings for the new house were coming up from the city last night, and I thought I would go back to the station and see what they looked like. Well, a couple of tall city men got off the train, and while I was looking over the cabinet work which come up to the station, one of them comes over and reads the tag on the bundles, and says he to the other one, ‘Well, here is some more of our firm’s stuff sent up for this job of Cameron’s, but I guess we will cabbage this lot,’ says he, ‘till we see the color of his money for what he’s already put into that house,’ and the other chap up and says, ‘The best thing we can do is to get this man Cameron to consent to a public sale of this house to satisfy the claims of his creditors. There will be no one here except a few of the largest creditors who will have money enough to bid on the property, and some one of us will get a beautiful house cheap. We can keep this thing quiet, and there will be at least thirty thousand dollars to divide up between us.’”

“Where did they go?” asked Perkins, eagerly.

“Well, they come over to The Front in one of Cameron’s wagons and the last I see of them was down by Laughing Donald’s. They weren’t there this morning, so I guess they went up to the town last night.”