I have a different sort of proposal to
make."
"Go ahead," Tavernake said. "What is it?"
"A new country," Pritchard declared, altering the angle of his
cigar, "a virgin land, mountains and valleys, great rivers to be
crossed, all sorts of cold and heat to be borne with, a land rich
with minerals--some say gold, but never mind that. There is oil
in parts, there's tin, there's coal, and there's thousands and
thousands of miles of forest. You're a surveyor?"
"Passed all my exams," Tavernake agreed tersely.
"You are the man for out yonder," Pritchard insisted. "I've two
years' vacation--dead sick of this city life I am--and I am going
to put you on the track of it. You don't know much about
prospecting yet, I reckon?"
"Nothing at all!"
"You soon shall," Pritchard went on. "We'll start from Winnipeg.
A few horses, some guides, and a couple of tents. We'll spend
twenty weeks, my friend, without seeing a town. What do you
think of that?"
"Gorgeous!" Tavernake muttered.
"Twenty weeks we'll strike westward. I know the way to set about
the whole job. I know one or two of the capitalists, too, and if
we don't map out some of the grandest estates in British
Columbia, why, my name ain't Pritchard."
"But I haven't a penny in the world," Tavernake objected.
"That's where you're lying," Pritchard remarked, pulling a
newspaper from his pocket. "See the advertisement for yourself:
'Leonard Tavernake, something to his advantage.
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