"WELL, Philip," said Caleb, as the two men met on the piazza before sunrise Monday morning, "as Sunday's gone an' as there's no one here but you an' I, let's talk business a little bit. You mustn't think that my having taken a wife is going to make me an extra drag on you, an' right after a cyclone, too. My salary's enough to support two on the best that Claybanks can provide, an' if you're hard pushed, I can get along without drawin' anythin' for a year, for I've always kept a few hundred ahead against a time when I might break down entirely. I've told Mary how your wife's been in the store a great part of the time, an' there's nothin' that Mary'd like better than to do the same thing, if agreeable to you an' Mrs. Somerton. She's had practical trainin' at it, you know."

"She'll be worth her weight in gold to us," Philip replied, "for I foresee a busy future, about which I've much to say to you. The cyclone, instead of depressing the people, seems to have nerved them to new hope, for the town has received much free advertising; a lot of city newspapers sent men down here to describe the horrors of the affair, and as there were no actual horrors, and the men wanted something of which to make stories, that brother-in-law of yours, who is about as quick-witted a young chap as I ever met, filled their heads with the natural resources of Claybanks,—rich soil, drained swamps, plenty of valuable commercial timber, water-power available at short notice, whenever manufacturers might demand it, and, of course, the great deposit of brick clay from which the town got its name. I predict that there will be a lot of chances to make money outside of the store, so the more help we can have in the store, the better. By the way, I wonder what Truett has been up to this morning. I heard hammering awhile ago, in the direction of the warehouse. Ah! I remember—putting up the old sign over the door—uncle's old sign; it was carried about a mile from town by the cyclone and brought back by a man who thought, and very correctly, that I'd like to preserve it. Let's go around a moment and see how it looks, and remind ourselves of old times."

As they reached the front of the warehouse, Caleb lost the end of a partly uttered sentence, for over the old sign he saw a long board on which was painted, in large, black letters:—

"Who did that?" Caleb gasped.

"Truett," Philip replied. "He did it by special request, and I'm afraid he worked a little on Sunday, but Mrs. Somerton and I thought it a work of necessity. You see," Philip continued, in a matter-of-fact manner, and ignoring Caleb's astonished look, "by the terms of Uncle Jethro's will I was to provide for you for life and to your own satisfaction, and 'tis quite as easy to do it this way as on the salary basis. Besides, 'twill put those benevolent societies out of their misery, and put an end to their questions, every two or three months, as to the likelihood of the property reverting to them. You'll have me in your power as to terms, but I know you'll do nothing unfair. Let's have articles of co-partnership drawn up, on the basis of equal division of profits in the entire business—store, farms, houses, etc. I wrote you of the lump of money I got for my father's old mining stock. That, of course, is my own; but if the firm runs short of ready cash at any time I will lend to it at the legal rate of interest, so nothing but a very bad crop year can cripple us. Besides, I shall want to operate a little on the outside, so the store will need an additional manager who shall also be an owner—not a clerk, as you've insisted on being."

"But, Philip," said Caleb, who had collapsed on an empty box in front of the store, "I've never had any experience as a boss."

"Nor as a married man, either," Philip replied, "yet you've suddenly taken to the part quite naturally and creditably! The main facts are these: I'm satisfied that the past success of the store business has been due quite as much to you as to Uncle Jethro, and all the people agree with me. I couldn't possibly get along without you, nor feel honest if I continued to take more than half of the proceeds. Why not go tell the story to your wife, as an eye-opener? I think it might give her a good appetite for breakfast, and improve her opinion of Claybanks and the general outlook. It might cheer her farther to be told that her brother is the right man in the right place, and bids fair to become the busiest man in the county."

"I'll tell her, an' I don't doubt that 'twill set her up amazingly. But, Philip—" here Caleb looked embarrassed, "you haven't—don't you think you could make out to say somethin' to me about her?"

"You dear old chap,—'young chap' would be the proper expression,—where are your eyes, that you haven't seen me admiring her ever since you brought her to us yesterday morning? She's a beauty with a lot of soul, and she's a wonderfully clever, charming woman besides, and I never saw a bride who seemed deeper in love. I can't ever thank you enough for finding such capital company for my wife. I expected to be impressed, for Grace has raved about her ever since you first wrote of meeting her, but Grace left much untold."

"I was afraid you might think she took up with me too easily," said Caleb; "but when, after we were married, I told her I never would forgive myself if I did not make her life very happy, she said she had no fears for the future, and that I mustn't think she took me only on my own say-so, for she'd had a lot of letters from your wife about me, all to the effect that I was the honestest, kindliest, most thoughtful, most unselfish man in the world, except you. Mary had great confidence in the judgment of your wife, whom she remembered as a very discreet young woman and a good judge of human nature. Her brother, too, unloaded on her a lot of complimentary things that he'd managed to pick up out here about me. Now, as a married man, an' a good friend of mine, what do you honestly think of my future?"

"Nothing but what is good. You've still half of your life before you, and if you're really rid of malaria, and if that Confederate bullet will cease troubling you, you ought to tread on air and live on sunshine for the remainder of your days."

"Speakin' of bullets," said Caleb, tugging at one end of a double watch-chain, and extracting from his pocket something which resembled a battered button, "how's that, for the wicked ceasin' from troublin' an' the weary bein' at rest? For my first two or three days at sea I couldn't see any good in sea-sickness, except perhaps that it had a tendency to make a man willin' to die, an' even that view of it didn't appeal very strongly to me, circumstances bein' what they were. One day when I was racked almost to death, I felt an awful stitch in my side. I was weak an' scared enough to b'lieve almost anythin' awful, so I made up my mind that I must have broken a rib durin' my struggles with my interior department, an' that the free end of it was tryin' to punch its way through to daylight. So I sent for the ship's surgeon, an' he, after fussin' over me two or three minutes, and doin' a little job of carvin', brought us face to face—I an' my old acquaintance from the South. I was so glad that I could 'a' hugged the Johnny Reb that fired that bullet, an' I never was seasick after that. But that's enough about me. Tell me somethin' about business. Do you think the cyclone has hurt you a lot, for the present?"

"It destroyed the store and its contents, and I don't expect to get any insurance, but I haven't lost any customers. On the other hand, some farmers are so sorry for me, I being the only merchant that was entirely cleaned out, that they are going to trade with us next year. Besides, much of our stock was old, and never would have sold at any price, while an entirely new stock is a great attraction to all classes of customers. We'll have a new store building up pretty soon, if Truett is as able as he thinks himself and as I think him. Let's go back to the wreck a moment; he generally has some men at work by sunrise, clearing away, so as to get at the foundations and ascertain their condition."

Apparently the young engineer was amusing himself, for they found him hammering a brick into small bits and examining the fractured surfaces. As Philip and Caleb joined him, he said:—

"This is a mystery. How on earth do you suppose this kind of brick got into Claybanks?"

"Easiest way in the world," Caleb replied, "seein' 'twas made here. 'Tisn't a good color, but, gentlemen, I saw whole houses on some o' the best streets in New York made of brick of about this color. They were better shaped, an' fancy-laid, but—"

"Excuse me, Caleb," said Truett, excitedly, "but do you mean to say that this brick was made here, in Claybanks, of Claybanks clay?"

"That's the English of it," Caleb replied, "an' all the bricks of all the chimneys an' fireplaces in the town are of the same clay."

"Oh, no; they're red."

"Yes, but that's because of one of Jethro's smartnesses. Wonderful man, Jethro Somerton was. The way of it was this: a newcomer here that wanted to put on some style, like he'd been used to in Pennsylvany, got your uncle to order enough red paint for him to cover a big new barn. Just 'fore the paint got here the barn was struck by lightnin', an' the new barn had to be of rough slabs, an' the man was glad enough to get 'em, too. Meanwhile Jethro was stuck with a big lot o' red paint, for nobody else felt forehanded enough to paint a barn. Jethro cogitated a spell, an' then he said quite frequent an' wherever he got a chance, that Claybanks was a sad, sombre-lookin' place; needed color, specially in winter, to make it look kind o' spruce-like. That set some few people to white-washin' their houses, an' when them that couldn't afford to do that much kind o' felt that some o' their neighbors were takin' the shine off of 'em, Jethro up an' said, 'Any man can afford to paint his chimney red, anyhow, an' a red chimney'll brighten up any house.' So, little by little at first, but afterwards all at a jump, he got rid o' that lot o' red paint, an' had to order more, an' in the course o' time it got to be the fashion, quite as much as wearin' hats out o' doors."

"That explains," said Truett, apparently relieved at mind, "why I've not noticed the brick before. I've seen two or three foundation walls, but I supposed, from their color, that they were merely mud-stained. Now let me give you two men a great secret, on condition that you let me in on the ground floor of the business end of it. Brick of this quality and color, properly moulded and baked, is worth about three times as much as ordinary red brick: I'll get the exact figures within a few days. I know that there is money in sending it to New York, from no matter what distance. Some of it is used even in indoor decoration."

"Whe—e—e—ew!" whistled Philip.

"Je—ru—salem!" ejaculated Caleb. "To think that the clay has been here all these years without anybody knowing its real value!"

"How could any one be expected to know about anything that existed in an out-of-the-way hole-in-the-ground like Claybanks?"

"Sh—not so loud!" said Philip. "Such talk in any Western town is worse than treason."

"'Tis reason, nevertheless. There might be a vein of gold here, but how could the world ever learn of it? Who owns the clay banks? Can't we get an option on them?"

"They belong to the town, which charges a royalty of twenty-five cents per thousand bricks," said Caleb. "They've brought less than a hundred dollars, thus far."

"Oh, this is dreadful!—splendid, I mean! A brick-making outfit isn't expensive, and fuel with which to burn the bricks is cheap. Can't we three organize a company, right here, in our hats or pockets, and get the start of any and all others in the business? 'Twill cost us about two dollars per thousand, I suppose, to haul the bricks to the railway station, but even then there will be a lot of money in the business. If we could have a railway—pshaw, men—Claybanks must have a railway! I've selected several routes, in off-hand fashion, over the three miles of country between here and the nearest railway station; there would be absolutely no bridging to do, nor any grading worth mentioning, so the three miles could be built for thirty thousand dollars. Let's do it!"

"Truett," said Philip, impressively, "go slow—very slow, or you'll have inflammation of the brain. Worse still, I shall have it. Caleb may escape, for he has the native Westerner's serene self-confidence in his own town and section; but I'm a Claybanker by adoption merely. First, you open a mine of wealth before our eyes, in the claybanks. Then you tempt us to make bricks for rich New Yorkers and others. Then you offer us a railway for thirty thousand dollars,—more money, to be sure, than could be raised here in thirty years,—and you do all this before breakfast on Monday morning. Come into the house with us; I shall faint with excitement if I don't get a cup of coffee at once."

"Make light of it, if you like," said Truett, "but will you look at the brick-making figures,—cost of plant, manufacture, and freight, also the selling price,—if I can get them from trustworthy sources?"

"Indeed I will—our firm will; won't we, Caleb?"

"I've been wantin' for years to see such a lot of figures," said Caleb, placidly, "an' to see the railroad figures we could touch. I've seen some of the other kind, once in a while."

"I hope too many cooks haven't spoiled the broth," said Mary, at the breakfast table, from behind a large breast-knot of roses. "I found in the garden what Grace pronounces a lot of weeds; but I've made a salad of them, and I shall feel greatly mortified if all of you don't enjoy it."

"We are prepared to expect almost anything delightful from what has been accounted worthless," said Philip, "after having listened to some of your brother's disclosures this morning. Eh, Caleb?"

"Yes, indeed," replied Caleb, with an "I-told-you-so" air. "I never doubted that a lot of good things would be developed at Claybanks, when the right person came along to develop 'em."

"Think of it, Mary!" said Truett. "You remember that magnificent house of old Billion's, on Madison Avenue—a house of yellowish brown brick? Well, the foundation of Somerton's old store is of just such brick, and it was made here, years ago, of the clay for which the town was named."

Mary's eyes opened wide as she replied:—

"What a marvellous country! Why, Grace, one of our firm, at the old store, boasted of having a chimney breast of that same brick, as if it were something quite rare and costly."

"Why don't you build the new store of it, Phil?" Grace asked.

"That's a happy thought!" said Truett. "Now, Somerton, what do you say to my brickyard plan? Put up the first solid building in Claybanks—set the fashion. Think of how 'twould advertise your business and make your competitors look small by comparison."

"Very well. See how quickly it can be done, if at all, and then we will talk business. We must have the warehouse clear by the beginning of the pork-packing season, less than four months distant." Then he smiled provokingly, and continued, "Perhaps, however, it will be better to build the new store of wood, as already planned, so you can give most of your time to building a railroad, so that we may get our golden bricks, and other goods, to market."

"There's sense in that," said Truett, taking the remark seriously. "As to the road, you may rest assured that my figures are within the extreme cost."

"My dear boy," said Philip, "far be it from me to dispute an engineer's estimates; but for some years in New York I was clerk and correspondent for a firm of private bankers who dabbled in railways, and I assure you that they never found any that cost but ten thousand dollars per mile."

"Perhaps not, for most railways are built on credit—generally on speculation, and largely for the special benefit of the builders, but our road—"

"What are these men talking about?" Mary asked of Grace.

"A railway from Claybanks to the nearest station we now have," said Philip. "Women love imaginative creations, Truett, so tell them all about it."

"There is no imagination in this," Truett retorted, "but perhaps they will condescend to listen to facts. Most companies are obliged to average the cost of their lines over a great stretch of territory. They have bridges and trestles to build, cuts to make, low ground to fill, and they must pay high prices, at portions of their line, for right of way, and they stock and bond their companies at ruinous rates to get the necessary money. As I've already said, none of the routes I have selected requires a single bridge, trestle, or filling, and the right of way, at the highest prices of farm land in this county, won't exceed a thousand dollars per mile."

"'Twon't cost a cent a mile," said Caleb. "Any farmer in these parts will give a railroad free right of way through his land, and say 'Thank you' for the privilege of doing it. If his house or barn is in the way, he will move it; he'll even let the line run over his well, and dig himself a new one, for the sake of having railroad trains for him and his family to stare at, for the trains kind o' bring farmers in touch with the big world of which they never see anything. If everything else can be arranged, you may safely count on me to coax right of way for the entire line."

"Score one for Truett!" said Philip; "proceed, Mr. Engineer."

"Thank you, and thanks to Caleb. The items of cost will be only road-bed, ties, and metal. A single track, with heavy rails, can be metalled out here for less than three thousand dollars per mile: that means nine thousand dollars for the three miles, and that should be the total cash outlay, for the road-bed and ties can be provided, by local enterprise, without money."

"Pardon my thick head," said Philip, "but how?"

"By organizing a stock company with shares so small that any farmer can subscribe, his subscription being payable in ties, which he can cut from his own woodland, or in labor with pick, shovel, horses, plough, scraper—whatever he and we can best use. Fix a valuation on ties, and on each class of labor, and pay in stock. 'Tis simply applying our drainage-ditch plan to a larger operation, though not very much larger, and one that will be attractive to a far greater number of men. Do this, and you merchants and other men of money supply the cash to buy the metal, and I'll guarantee to have that road completed in time to haul to market your wheat, pork, corn, and other produce on any day of the coming winter, regardless of the weather. Caleb tells me that you merchants have often lost good chances of the market because the roads between here and the station were so soft or so rough that a loaded wagon couldn't get over them. There are tens of thousands of cords of firewood still standing here, on land that ought to be under cultivation, but the farmers have no incentive to cut it, for there is no market but this little town. The railroad would get it to market, and at good cash prices, and thus doubly benefit the farmers. I'm told that the water-power of the creek has been holding up the Claybanks heart for years; and I know that there are enough varieties of commercial timber here to occupy several mills a long time, but no one is going to haul machinery in, and his output away, over three miles of mud or frozen clods."

"True as Gospel—every word of it," said Caleb. "I've heard Jethro, an' Doc Taggess, an' ev'ry other level-headed man in town say the same thing for years."

"I fully agree with them," said Philip, "but let's go back to figures a moment. I've heard nothing yet about the cost of locomotives, and other rolling stock—mere trifles, of course,—yet necessary."

"We should not be expected to supply them," Truett explained. "The road which ours will feed will be glad to supply them, as all roads do for short spurs on which anything is to be handled. It would be idiotic to buy rolling stock for a road which at first won't have enough business to justify one train a day. When there's anything to do, the old company will send down a short train from the nearest siding; the run wouldn't require fifteen minutes. You Eastern people who are accustomed to a thickly populated country, with many through trains daily, don't know anything about the business methods of the sparsely settled portions of the West, especially on spurs of a railway line."

"He's right about rolling stock," said Caleb. "Ten years ago the railroad company, over yonder, told Jethro an' a committee that went from here to see 'em that if we'd build the spur, they'd do the rest. But they stood out for a solid road-bed, as good as their own, an' for heavy steel rails, like their own, for they said their rollin' stock was very heavy, and they wa'n't goin' to take the risk of accidents. The price of the rails knocked us."

"Naturally," said Truett, "for steel rails were four or six times as costly then as they are now."

"You've made me too excited to eat," said Philip, leaving the table, "and I'm afraid that the trouble will continue until this road is moved from the air to the ground. The main offices of the old company are only about a hundred miles away; suppose, Truett, that you and the most truly representative merchant of Claybanks—I mean Caleb—run up there? I'll look after the men at work on the store. Tell the president, or whoever is in authority, that we think of building a spur at once from here to their main track, see what they'll do, and persuade them to say it in black and white. If they talk favorably, we'll hold a public meeting, and try to do something. Mrs. Wright, we owe you an apology. I assure you that business talk is not the rule at our breakfast table."

"I wish it were!" said Mary, who, with Grace, had listened excitedly until both women were radiant with enthusiasm. "I wish railways could be planned at breakfast every day—if my brother were to be the builder."

"Now, Mary," said Caleb, "perhaps you begin to understand the Western fever of which I've told you something from time to time."

"Understand it?" said Mary, dashing impulsively at her husband. "I already have it—madly! I'm willing to bid you good-by at once for your trip, though I haven't been married a week. My husband a possible railway director—and yours also, Grace! How do you feel?"

"Prouder than ever," Grace replied. "Just as you will feel, week by week, as the wife of a clever husband."